Shifter Eruption: A Paranormal Romance Box Set
Author: Mia Taylor
Date: 2019-01-08 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Shapeshifters; Romance; Paranormal
Description: He says he'll make me his own, no matter what it takes. Will he still feel this way when he finds out the dark secret of my past? I’m a rookie cop, determined to be strong and relentless in my new role. My new boss August is big, strong, hot AF and protective. He’s also a shifter in a powerful clan. He wants to claim me for his own and make me his mate. I’m resistant but intrigued, unsure of what the future would look like. What he doesn’t know is that I hold secrets of my own. Dark secrets that are now coming to the surface. We’re now in danger, being blackmailed. August is the only one who c

Highland Shifters

A Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

12 scorching hot shifter romances

Find out what's under that kilt in this collection of steamy shapeshifter romances! NY Times and USA Today bestselling authors such as Selena Kitt, Michelle Fox, Tabitha Conall, Adriana Hunter and Liliana Rhodes offer 12 stories featuring hot alpha shifters in kilts. Many of the stories in the collection are brand new!

Are you ready to peek under the plaid?

Her Scottish Alpha by Tabitha Conall: In the midst of trying to figure out their mating, Alpha werewolf Lachlan and dragon slayer Keira have to find Keira's missing sister, fight a war and save Lachlan's life.

Liulf by Victoria Danann: For two thousand years the Scotia werewolves have enjoyed the protection of the Fae Monarchy, but the world is changing and the tribe must adapt or face extinction. Or move.

Highland Wolf Pact by Selena Kitt: Englishwoman Sibyl Blackthorne escapes her arranged marriage to a cruel Scot only to find herself in the arms of something even more dangerous - and discovers only one wild heart can claim another.

Kiss the Dragon by Michelle Fox: A cursed dragon finds his maiden is already claimed by the future. If he can't save her, she can't save him.

By the Light of the Scottish Moon by Red Phoenix: Bryn, the pack leader, is so lost in his own pain he can't see beyond it. Freya is dying & has come home to Scotland.to say goodbye. Her fate lies in his hands - but to save her he must kill her.

The Highlander's Mate by Liliana Rhodes: Centuries after an ancient curse on his clan tore werewolf Bran MacCulloch away from his mate Ainsley Drummond, he catches her scent on the breeze. But how can it be her?

Highland Moon Rising by Sarah Makela: When wereleopard Caitlyn returns home to see her werewolf half-brother after he’s rescued from scientists, she’s imprisoned by the Pack. Will the Alpha who hungers for her be the protector she needs?

Knights of Stone by Lisa Carlisle: Gargoyles, tree witches, and shifters have divided their Scottish isle. When a witch breaches into another territory, she's tempted by a forbidden attraction that may affect the future for all.

The Zrakon's Curse by Linda Barlow: Sea dragon shifter Colin Malloch's need for a mate draws a woman from another world into grave danger. How can he keep her safe when his own brother demands her life?

To Tame a Highlander by Adriana Hunter: Curvy nurse Aspyn Montgomery's night takes a sudden turn when a patient she watched die suddenly turns up at her apartment desperately needing help.  Can fated love triumph over the threat of war?

Roots and Fang by Skye Eagleday & Ripley Sage: When McKay takes a male Fae lover it triggers the deadly jealousy of the powerful Pooka shape-shifter the Fae abandoned. Can love conquer all when only one of you is human?

Midnight Hunt by Arial Burnz: As Broderick unravels the mystery of why Monika reminds him of his late wife, his quest for answers causes a chain of events, starting a witch hunt, dooming them both to the fiery stake of judgment.

Table of Contents

Her Scottish Alpha by Tabitha Conall

Liulf by Victoria Danann

Highland Wolf Pact by Selena Kitt

Kiss the Dragon by Michelle Fox

By the Light of the Scottish Moon by Red Phoenix

The Highlander's Mate by Liliana Rhodes

Highland Moon Rising by Sarah Makela

Knights of Stone by Lisa Carlisle

The Zrakon's Curse by Linda Barlow

To Tame a Highlander by Adriana Hunter

Roots and Fang by Skye Eagleday & Ripley Sage

Midnight Hunt by Arial Burnz

Her Scottish Alpha

Tabitha Conall

Chapter 1

Every time the dragon came to visit, Lachlan MacPherson kept a close eye on the silverware.  Not that he thought his friend Damon Knightley, dragon shifter, would steal from him, but dragons were known for their acquisitiveness and that was something he could never forget.

It made him just a little wary of Damon’s motives for wanting in on the alliance the werewolves were forming.  On the other hand, Damon said he had a lead on a world-walker, and if that was true, it was worth risking a lot.  Even the centuries-old silver.

“Have you spoken to him?” Lachlan said.  World-walkers were beyond rare, and just as valuable for their ability to jump between the worlds.

Damon flipped a spoon end over end and caught it.  “I’m not even sure he’s a he.”

Lachlan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the wooden table that lay between him and Damon.  The Great Hall felt exceedingly empty with only the two of them in it.  A couple of guards stood outside the door at the far end, but they were out of sight–and more importantly, earshot.  “If you don’t even know the gender of this world-walker, how do you think you’re going to find him?  How can you be sure he even exists?”

Damon flipped the spoon again.  It flashed as it sailed by his black hair and dark eyes then fell into his hand again as though drawn there.  “I think the world-walker’s a woman.  I think that’s why the vampires can’t locate her.”

Lachlan felt all his muscles tense.  “We’re looking for the same world-walker as the vampires?  Bloody hell, man.  Couldn’t we find our own?  We could end up in outright war.”

The smooth bastard had the gall to laugh.  “That’s why you need me.  I’ll find the chit, get her to join us and whisk her away before the vampires even figure out her gender.”

As near as the scientists could tell, Earth came first–Earth and Earth animals and human beings.  But with human beings came something else, something none of the other animals had...a vivid imagination.  Human beings dreamed up all sorts of creatures that didn’t really exist.  And then they did exist, but not on Earth.  Not yet.  Those human dreams created whole other dimensions that were like Earth but not Earth.

Each of those dimensions was drawn to Earth as though pulled by an invisible string.  Earthlings couldn’t see those worlds as they approached–they were out of phase–but little things clued them in.  And when one of those dimensions overlapped Earth, bam, the worlds collided.  All of a sudden, Earth–or Earth Prime, as the scientists called it–had a whole new set of inhabitants, often creatures Earth had never seen before, and they always had their own agendas.

The worlds that held werewolves and vampires and dragons, among others, had collided with Earth Prime centuries ago.  Now a new dimension was headed for them but no one knew what sorts of creatures it might hold.  Lachlan and the other werewolves wanted to find out this new world’s agenda before it got thrust on them.  This world-walker was the answer.  “What do you think you’re going to do, seduce her?”

The edges of Damon’s mouth turned up.  “Whatever it takes.”

“All right.  Let’s say you find this world-walker and lure her to our side.  What then?  What is it you want out of this?”  When Damon placed the spoon on the table, Lachlan fought not to snatch it away.  He still remembered his grandfather, the then Scottish Alpha, telling a story about the silver being lovingly forged by his own great-great-grandfather.  He couldn’t let something so old and treasured be stolen by a dragon.

“I want in.”  Damon leaned forward.  “We shifters should stick together, no matter what we shift into.  You’re allies with the bears, the big cats, even the hyenas--”

“We’re allies with the dragons.”

“Only just.  You tolerate us.  And I don’t blame you.  Many of my kind are total assholes.  But not all of us.”  He put his palm flat on the table next to the spoon.  “I want in on the alliance.”

He wasn’t asking for much.  Just the sun, the moon and the stars.  “I’d need to discuss that with my allies.”

Damon slapped the table with his palm.  “You do that.  In the meantime, I’ll find that world-walker and get her on my side.  If you want her to be on your side, you know what to do.”  He stood.

Damned bastard.  “Damon.”

Damon opened his mouth to answer but at that moment the doors flew open, crashing against the wall.  One of the werewolf guards skidded across the floor toward the table where Damon and Lachlan stood.  Behind him strode two women, all in black leather, their dark hair falling straight and smooth down their backs.  Twins.  No doubt about it.  But what the hell were they doing breaking into his Great Hall?

“Damon Knightley,” one of the women said, her voice loud.

“Shit.”  Damon stripped his clothes off as fast as he could.

If he was getting ready to shift, the women must be trouble.  “What the hell?”  The table Lachlan stood behind reached several yards on either side, far too long to go around.  So he vaulted it, landing beside Damon just as Damon hopped on one foot, trying to pull his pants off the other.

The two women neared.  “We just want to talk,” one of them said.  Her voice sent a sensual shudder of arousal through Lachlan.  Again, what the hell?

“The hell you do.”  Damon dropped the last of his clothing then vaulted into the air, his arms erupting into obsidian-colored scaled wings, his body quadrupling in size.  He hovered in the air above them.

Thank the Gods for the tall ceilings.

The two women drew weapons, a semi-automatic in one hand and a dirk–a long dagger--in the other.  They watched Damon, their identical chins tipped upward at exactly the same angle.

“Get down here!” the first woman said.  Her voice didn’t move him.

Damon flew, flapping his wings and stirring the air.  As he headed for the wide open double doors, a scent blew across Lachlan’s nose.

His cock grew instantly, painfully hard.  He’d never smelled the scent before but he had no doubt what it was.

His mate.

Where before he had seen two women, exactly the same, now he could tell them apart.  His mate’s scent marked her as though she had a flashing sign over her head saying “This one.  This is the one.”  Lachlan headed for her.

Then everyone moved.  The women realized Damon was planning to escape through the door.  They ran after him.  Lachlan knew he couldn’t let his mate get away or he might never see her again.  He pushed a little faster and managed to snag her around the waist just before she reached the doorway.  Her sister sped after the dragon, not seeming to realize she was alone.

His mate screamed.  She struggled, elbowed him, tried to smash her head back into his face–which he narrowly evaded–and nearly stuck him with the dirk.

“Stop,” he said.  He didn’t want it to go like this.  “I just want to talk.”

“You’re letting him get away,” she hissed.

“He’ll be back.  What I’m doing is not letting you get away.  Ye need to stay.”  She wasn’t a wolf; it was easy enough to tell that much.  This would all be much easier if she were a wolf.  But he wasn’t sure what she was.  She seemed to be human and yet more.  He’d never seen a human fight the way she did, and with such strength.  And her scent–besides being the most luscious, decadent thing he’d ever smelled in his life–seemed not quite human either.

She twisted in his arms until she could look into his eyes.  Hers were dark brown and deep.  He could drown in them.

“Let me go,” she said.

“I canna.”

“Sure you can.  Look, I’m sorry about your little guards there, but they got in the way.  They’ll wake up soon enough.”  When he didn’t answer, preferring to continue gazing at her instead, she said, “I haven’t broken any laws.  You have no right to hold me.”

“Och, sweetheart.  I’m sure you’ve broken a good many laws.  But that’s not why you’re stayin’.  You’re stayin’ because you’re the other half of my soul and I aim to keep you with me.”

#

Keira Harlow laughed.  Other half of his soul?  Give her a break.

The big werewolf didn’t laugh, though.  He didn’t even crack a smile.  If anything, the grip he had on her got a little tighter.

“You’re kidding, right?” she said.

“No.  Werewolves know their mates when they scent them.  You’re mine.”

She felt a frisson of something almost like fear run down her spine.  He might be bat-crap crazy but if he really thought she was his mate, he might hold her indefinitely.  And Gillian needed her.

Keira flew into action again, thrusting her elbows back into his wide, hard chest, kicking at him with the feet that dangled off the floor.  She was a tall enough woman at 5'8".  How fricking tall was he?  At least 6'4", maybe more.

Her struggles got her nowhere.  He wrapped his arms more firmly around her, pinned her arms to her sides and held tight.  “Stop.”  The voice that rumbled in her ear sent another frisson through her, this one frighteningly like arousal.

Arousal?

She got aroused by weapons, by thick history tomes, and by Google.  By men?  Not so much.  Not that she was gay, but it had been a long time since a man had anything to offer that she had the slightest interest in pursuing.  So what was up with getting aroused by a six foot-something Scottish guy who had her effectively pinned?

Maybe it was because he was the first man in years who’d been able to pin her.

Before she could follow that thought–if she even wanted to–he spoke again.  “What’s your name?”

“I’m not your mate.”  She continued to struggle, though her efforts seemed feeble.  The tension made her throat sound hoarse.

“Your name, lass.  Mate or no, I want something to call ye.”

“You can call me ‘gone’ if you’ll just put me down.”

He growled.  The damned werewolf actually growled at her.  “Name.”

“Keira.”

“Keira.”

When he said her name, the sound rolled through her like a mini-orgasm.  Good Gods, what was he doing to her?  “Yes, Keira.  Now put me down.”

“I canna.  You’ll run, when what I need is for ye to hear me out.”  The blasted man turned and walked her back through the Great Hall toward a long table at the far end.

She kicked at him but he didn’t even make a sound to indicate she’d impacted him.  “You can’t just hold me prisoner.”

“I can, but I don’t want to.  You’re my mate.  I want to take you to my room, make love to you for days, then take care of you the rest of our lives.”

Keira sucked in her breath.  She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised that what he described even sounded good or shocked that he thought she was the kind of woman he could coddle.  “Do you know who I am?” she bit off.

“Keira.  My mate.”

“How about what I am?”

He stopped walking, still holding her suspended above the floor.  How strong was this guy?  He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard.  “I can’t tell.”

“I’m a dragon slayer.”

His breath gusted out of his mouth.  “I’ve heard little of your kind.”

“That’s the way we like it.”

“You’ll tell me more.”  He started walking again.  “Do you know who I am?”

“A werewolf.”  Any fool could tell that.  He was in the Stronghold, after all.

“That’s what I am, love.  But who am I?”  He stopped by the table and set her on her feet facing him, his hands tight on her shoulders.

She got her first good look at him.  Besides being built like a tank, he had wavy blond hair that brushed his shoulders and steady blue eyes.  “I don’t know.”

“You should.  You broke into my home.  I’m Lachlan MacPherson, Alpha of Scotland and all of the UK.”

Bloody hell.  The gods-damned Alpha of everything, strongest wolf in the land.  And he thought she was his mate.

#

Lachlan didn’t dare take his hands off his mate’s shoulders.  Even now, she eyed the door, no doubt measuring how far away it was and how long it would take her to reach it.  He could catch her easily but chasing his mate around the Great Hall didn’t seem like the best way to woo her.

Neither did pinning her in place.

Maybe he’d give them a break.  A change of topic.  Maybe then she’d relax a little.  “What do you and your sister want with Damon?”

Her body stiffened even further.  “None of your business.”

Lachlan leaned closer to her, almost touching his forehead to hers as her eyes grew wide.  “Everything about you is my business.”

“You can stake a claim all you want, wolf.  That doesn’t mean I’m going to accept this story that I’m your mate.  Never before in all the history of the dragon slayers is there mention of a single one of them being a werewolf’s mate.  It just doesn’t happen.”

“Never?  In all your history?”  Normally he’d see such declarations as boasting but the tone of her voice sounded different.  Less cocky and more confident.

“Never.”  After a pause, she said, “I’m the historian.  I know.”

His estimation of her went up a notch.  Not just tough, strong and hot enough to singe his eyebrows off but smart as well.  Fate had blessed him.  He let his gaze travel down her lithe form, noting the muscle as well as the occasional feminine curve.  His.

“Hey,” she said.  “I’m up here.”

Their eyes met.  “You’re my mate.  I’ll soon know every inch of you intimately.  Taking a little look now won’t hurt anything.”

“I’m not your mate.”

Lachlan’s hands tightened on her shoulders, his lip drawing back to show fang.  “You’re my mate and one way or another, I’m keeping you.”

Chapter 2

As soon as Lachlan said the words, he wished them back.  Smooth.  Tell a fiercely independent woman she was trapped.  Way to go.

Just as her eyes narrowed, one of the doors in the back of the hall swung open and Iain, his brother and second-in-command, rushed through.  “Lachlan.  You’ve gotta see this.”  When he reached Lachlan’s side, he put his tablet on the table and swiped the screen.

Keira’s eyes flew from Lachlan to Iain and back.  He didn’t know what she was thinking but he knew what she saw–he and Iain looked much alike, same shaggy blond hair, same blue eyes, except Lachlan was a bit bigger and taller.

“A little busy here,” Lachlan said.

Iain barely glanced at Keira, his focus on the tablet.  “This is more important.”

Lachlan’s voice dropped an octave.  “Nothing’s more important than my mate.”

Iain straightened, staring at Keira who still stood with Lachlan’s hands holding her in place.  “Your mate?  Really?”

“Really.  Now get lost.”

Iain shook his head with a slight shrug of his shoulders.  “Sorry, but I can’t.  You really do have to see this.”  He motioned with his head toward the tablet then touched the screen.  A video started.

Lachlan moved Keira in front of him, still holding her by the shoulders.  All three of them watched the screen.

The video bounced and jerked, the image grainy at times.  But it clearly showed a large group of people bustling around gathering arms and soldiers in some sort of makeshift camp.

“Brodie took this footage.  He says Sebastian is getting close to being able to launch an attack on us.”

Brodie was one of Lachlan’s wolves who had moved to London years ago to infiltrate the English pack and send back intel.  He had become a trusted member of Sebastian’s inner circle, and the intel he’d sent back to Lachlan had been invaluable.  But the info he’d sent in the past couple of months had been the most important.

Sebastian was getting ready to start a war.

“What is this?”  Keira’s voice sounded...curious.  Interested.  Lachlan resisted the urge to brush her hair back and place a kiss on her shoulder.

“My cousin can’t accept that I’m the UK Alpha,” Lachlan said.  “For centuries, the English Alpha has been the UK Alpha, and they think it should stay that way even though I inherited the position by right.”

“And we’re not bloody giving it up,” Iain added.

One thing Lachlan knew for sure–his people were behind him.  His Scottish people.  Every one of them was thrilled the UK Alpha finally came from Scotland.

“And they’re willing to go to war over it?” Keira said.

“Isn’t that the sort of thing people go to war over?” Lachlan said.  “Relations have been tenuous for a while, but escalated when I kicked Sebastian’s envoy out of a...”  He stumbled.  She might be his mate but he didn’t know yet if he could trust her enough to tell her about their plans.  “...a conference.”  It was shortly after that that Brodie started sending back reports about angry meetings with calls for “kicking that Scottish pretender’s ass” and worse.

“Why did you do that?” Keira said.

Lachlan squeezed her shoulders lightly, caressing.  “He overturned a table and attacked my second.  Then he refused–in front of everyone–to accept my rule.  He’s lucky I didn’t do worse to him.”

“You did do worse,” Iain said.  “You left him in that dungeon over night.  You know there are rats down there.”

“What are you, a werewolf or a flea?”  The rats in the dungeon had been a running debate between the brothers ever since Lachlan locked Iain down there for a whole hour when he was ten and Iain six.

“I’m someone who doesn’t want to get bitten by a rodent.”

Keira shifted her weight and he just knew she was looking to escape.  He tightened his grip on her shoulders and leaned closer so he was practically whispering in her ear.  “Ever seen a werewolf who’s afraid of rats?  You have now.”  He felt the heat of her body straight through his shirt.

“Enough.  This is serious, Lachlan.”  Iain tapped the edge of the tablet.  “We need to step things up.  If Sebastian attacks and we aren’t ready--”

“We’re mobilizing.”  Lachlan breathed in his mate’s scent and wished his brother would go anywhere else.  Just away.

“Not fast enough,” Iain said.  “We need a show of force.”

“We’ve been over this,” Lachlan said.  “I want to give diplomacy a chance before we kick Sebastian’s ass.  I need to be able to lead his people after we beat them.”  He moved his hands to Keira’s waist.  Would she protest?  Push his hands away?  His cock was still just as hard as it had been the second he’d scented her.  If Iain weren’t here...

“We should--”

“Enough.  Put together a status on the mobilization thus far.  We’ll review it later.”

“Lachlan.”

“Iain.  I just found my mate.  Get out.”

Iain clenched his jaw but finally scooped up the tablet.  “I’ll have it ready in an hour.”

“Two hours.  I’ll meet you in my office.”  Lachlan turned Keira to face him as his brother headed for the door.

“You know this isn’t settled,” she said.  “You’ve distracted me with your excitement but it doesn’t change anything.  My sister is out there tracking a dangerous dragon and I need to back her up.”

His excitement.  Did she mean the threat of war or the excitement of finding her?  “Damon’s a good enough guy.  Why do you want to slay him?”

The door closed behind Iain and they were finally alone.

She tried to step backward but his hands on her waist held her in place.  “That’s dragon slayer business.”

“If it’s your business, it’s my business.”

Keira touched her tongue to her upper lip, just for a second.  When it disappeared, he leaned forward, wanting to follow it into a kiss.

This time when she stepped back, she succeeded.  “Let’s not keep going around and around the same territory.  We need to come to some sort of understanding, and fast, because I need to get out there with Gill.”

#

“Gill’s your sister,” Lachlan said.

“Yes.  My sister, and my partner.  And right now, she’s all alone.”  Keira paused a second.  “How about if I promise to come back here after our current campaign is done?  We can talk about this then.”

Keira didn’t have any intention of coming back, but she’d say whatever she had to in order to get out of here.  She hadn’t lied about Gill.  If anything, she’d underplayed it.

Dragon slayers always worked in pairs, and the connection was deeper than mere partners.  Lachlan might talk about mates but Keira already had a partner.  She had her sister.  She didn’t need anyone else.

More than that, when dragon slayers worked together, they were two halves of a whole.  And when apart, they were just half.  Without Keira, Gillian was at a distinct disadvantage against the dragon.  If she were smart, she would have holed up and waited for Keira.  Or come back.  But she hadn’t come back.  And truth was, Gill could be a little hot-headed.  She probably went after the dragon by herself.

Lachlan put his hand on her cheek, his fingertips tangling in her hair.  “You’ll come back?”  When she nodded, he said, “Why don’t I believe you?”

So much for that.  It was worth a try.  “Fine.  What do you suggest?”

“If this is so important, why don’t I help you look for your sister?  Then the three of us can come back here and you can stay with me while you and I work this out.”  When his thumb brushed across her cheekbone she had to fight not to shudder.

What the hell was this man doing to her?  “So you’ll keep us both prisoner.”

He laughed, his face transforming, all the edges softening.  “You’re no’ a prisoner.  You’re my treasured guest.  And one day, you’ll take your place as my Alpha Female.”

What if everything he was saying was true?  What if she really was his mate?  She didn’t know much about the whole thing, but she should still have a choice, right?  She wasn’t a werewolf.  “What if I don’t want to be Alpha Female?”

He rubbed her cheekbone again, sending shivers through her just from his touch.  “Lass, there are some things we don’t get to choose.  Our mates, our role in life.  Did you decide to be a dragon slayer?”

He must know something about her race if he knew to say that.  “Of course not.”

“You dinna choose this either, but you must accept it same as you accepted that.”

She didn’t think it was as simple as all of that.  She and Gill traveled a lot.  It didn’t take a genius to guess Lachlan would want her to stay put.  So before she did any accepting she damn well needed to find out what would be involved.

But first, Gill.  “So we go find Gill and bring her back.  How can I be sure you won’t lock us up?”  She asked the question more for his benefit than hers.  If she and Gill were reunited, they’d be able to do anything–even break out of his rat-filled dungeons, if they had to.

“Lass, I’m trying to woo you.  Why would I lock you up?”

Ah.  What was telling was what he didn’t say...he didn’t tell her he wouldn’t lock them up, he didn’t give his word of honor, he didn’t bring in witnesses so he could swear it in front of them.  He was keeping his options open.

She’d do the same.  She needed to get to Gill.  If agreeing to this meant she could leave the castle, she’d agree.  And if the situation changed, so would her agreement.  “Fine.  Let’s go.”

Lachlan grabbed her around the waist before she could take more than a step.  “There are preparations to make.”

With her hands flat on his oh-so-hard chest, she pushed away from him.  “The hell with your preparations.  We need to leave now.  Gill needs me.”

Still holding her, he pulled his cell out of his pocket.  “I want to bring some people with me.  Plus, I think the fastest way to find them will be to ask Damon.”  He messed with his phone one-handed and a few seconds later she heard the phone ringing through the speaker.

Keira relaxed a little.  He had a good point.  Finding out what the dragon knew and where he was located was a good way to start.

But when the phone picked up, a tinny-voiced message greeted them.  After the beep, Lachlan said, “Damon?  You all right?  What’s happening?  Call me back.”  He hung up.

“You didn’t say your name,” Keira said.

“He’ll know my voice.”

He’d better.  “Let’s go.”

Still, he hesitated.  “I need to gather some people.”

Keira took a step toward the door.  “Fine.  You go do that and meet me out there.  I’m not waiting.”

Lachlan grabbed her arm.  “You’ll stay here until I’m ready.”

Baring her teeth and putting her hand over the gun on her hip, Keira said, “You’d better hurry up or we’re going to have a fight on our hands.”

Still holding her arm, he dialed a number on his cell and put it to his ear.  “Iain.  I need warriors to help me with a search.  Have at least five meet me at the front gate in ten minutes.”  He hung up.

Lachlan headed for the door, pulling her along with him.  “Happy, lass?”

“I suppose.”  She had to walk fast to keep up with his long legs.  She couldn’t remember that ever happening before.  “Am I allowed to use my phone?”

“Allowed?”

“I’m obviously your prisoner.  But maybe we can clear all of this up if I can just call Gillian.”

His hand tightened on her arm just a little bit.  “Call her.”  He continued walking.

Keira pulled her arm away and paused to dial.  As soon as it started ringing, she started walking again.  Lachlan kept pace with her the whole way.

“No answer,” she finally said.

“I heard.  We’ll try again in a little while.”

He’d heard.  Of course he had–he had that wolf hearing.  She really needed to learn more about the wolves if this one was going to stalk her.  She’d been so focused on the dragons her whole life she’d never bothered to learn much about the other species.

Now that they were off, she didn’t know where to start.  The Stronghold sat in the middle of the Highlands.  Plenty of houses and other buildings sat within the castle walls but outside stretched wilderness for several miles, broken only by a two-lane highway leading to the nearest town.

Their car.  First she needed to see if Gillian had taken the car they’d abandoned just outside the front gate.  At least it would be a clue.  If the car was still there, then she had to have left on foot.

Keira broke into a jog, not surprised to see Lachlan beside her, moving at an easy lope.  The bailey between the castle and the curtain wall stretched a good three hundred feet, filled with driveways and walkways and scattered patches of grass.

He slowed when they got to the open gate but Keira kept going.  His fingertips grazed her back.  “Stop.”

The car wouldn’t be visible unless she was completely clear of the wall.  She came to a stop just as Lachlan caught up with her.  Down the road a bit, the roof of the car was just visible over a small hill, glinting red in the autumn sun.  “Damn it,” she said.

“You don’t give up.”  Lachlan’s hand settled on her hip.  “We need to wait for my people.”

Whatever.  Keira pointed at the red metal.  “She didn’t take the car.  She’s on foot.”

His hand squeezed her hip, his thumb rubbing her through her shirt.  “That’s a good clue.”

A warmth spread through her at his words, which immediately pissed her off.  She wasn’t this man’s mate.  What did it matter to her whether he praised her or not?

Keira pulled away from him, pacing a few steps.  “Where are your people?  I want to get going.”

“They’ll be here, lass.  Take a deep breath.”

Her jaw clenched but she said nothing.  How could she expect him to understand?  Inside her, a rising panic clawed at her, a desperation she kept just barely restrained.  “You don’t get it.  I have to find her.”

He leaned toward her.  “I may not get it but any fool can see how upset you are.  Take a breath.  We’ll find her.”

People arrived at the gate and Lachlan waved them over.  Four men, two women.  Lachlan quickly introduced them.  “Keira, this is Ross, Fergus, Niall, and Aileen.”  He pointed at each one in turn, every one of them looking distinctly Scottish and a little bit wild.  He pointed at the last two.  “Colin is my tenth, and Mattie is his new mate from the States.”  Lachlan slid his arm around Keira’s shoulder.  “Wolves, meet my new mate, Keira.”

Did he have to introduce her that way?  Not just letting everyone know this foolish idea of his but stripping her of her identity as though the only thing important about her was how she was related to him?

None of the wolves seemed to notice the slight nor her stiffness.  They smiled and slapped Lachlan on his back, offering her congratulations.  She shook hands with each one, anxious to get going but not ready to be rude.  Not quite.

“Keira’s sister is missing,” Lachlan said loudly as the congratulations died down.  “We’re to find her.”  He quickly filled them in on just what they needed to know–Gill had chased after the dragon and they hadn’t seen her since.  When he finished, he said.  “Let’s get to it, then.”

Every single one of Lachlan’s wolves peeled off their shirt and dropped it to the ground.  They didn’t even blink afterward, just went to work undoing their pants.

Keira turned to look at the car.  The wolves were no different from the dragons, needing to strip before they changed.  Still, she never got used to people disrobing in front of her.  Then again, she didn’t see it often.  “I thought we would be on two feet,” she said.

“You and I will.  They can track better in wolf form.  Have you anything of Gill’s they can scent?”

“There are clothes in the car.”  It had been a while since they’d come across a washing machine so she had no doubt there were clothes of her sister’s that smelled of her.  Maybe more than they wanted.

“Let’s go get them.”  He put his hand on her neck and guided her forward.

Why did he have to keep touching her?  Each time, an electric current ran through her, her skin warming, not just where he touched her, but everywhere.  Damned wolf.

Keira jogged forward in order to break his hold on her.  He let her go but kept up with her easily.  When they reached the car, he stood too close as she popped the trunk and leaned into it to open up Gill’s luggage.

Next thing, Lachlan’s hand curled around her waist, his pelvis bumping hers as he put his hand on the floor of the trunk and leaned over her.  She froze.  His fingers massaged her stomach and moved steadily lower as his chest came to a rest against her back.  “I canna take this much longer, lass.  Seeing you lean over like that...”  His teeth nipped at her neck.  “It’s a temptation.”

Chapter 3

Keira struggled to catch her breath.  Being held and touched by a man she barely knew shouldn’t affect her like this.  Yet she had to fight against the urge to press into him.  It felt more than good.  It felt right.

“Say something,” his sexy voice whispered as his fingers worked their way closer and closer to her pussy.

She didn’t want him to stop.  And she couldn’t possibly tell him that.  “Gillian.”  Saying her sister’s name helped steel her against the sensations cascading through her.

Lachlan groaned and buried his face deeper in her neck.  “We’ll find your sister, lass, but it’s so hard to think of it.  I just want to take you to my room and make love to you ‘til you can’t remember any name but mine.  And then I’ll mark ye.”  He growled the last sentence and the sound skittered over her body.

“Will it hurt?” she said, voice thick.  She didn’t even know why she asked; she wasn’t going to let him sink his teeth into her.

“A little.  But you’ll also have the most amazing orgasm you’ve ever experienced.”

That pronouncement washed over her like a bucketful of cold water.  All the orgasms she’d ever had she’d had to give herself.  Men just didn’t seem to be very good at it.  She straightened, pushing him to a standing position.

But the damned man kept his body pressed all against the back of her, his arms around her while his hands played havoc.  One hand continued to massage her belly, not quite touching her where she really wanted him to, while the other settled over her breast and kneaded.

“Stop.”  Her voice sounded horrifyingly hoarse.

“Is that really what you want?”

As he kissed her neck, she tipped her head to the side to give him better access.  “Your wolves will be joining us soon.”

“You’re not telling me you’re shy.”

“I’m not into exhibitionism, if that’s what you mean.”  Yet she couldn’t make herself pull away from him.  Instead, she melted while her brain turned to mush.

He chuckled.  With his body pressed so hard against hers, she felt the vibrations all the way to her bones.  “We wolves aren’t so shy.  Hard to be shy when you’ve got to get naked together on a regular basis.”

Keira was trying to think of how to answer when she heard a yip.  Beside them, a large gray wolf sat on its haunches, its tongue hanging out of its mouth.

Lachlan sighed loudly as he released her and took a small step backward.  He took the warmth with him.  “That’s Colin.  They’ll be ready now.  Got those clothes?”

As though she’d had time to gather clothes while he’d manhandled her.  Her body continued to tingle and though she’d never admit it to him, she yearned to feel his hands on her again.

“You should probably turn away.  I need to lean over to get something from the suitcase.”

He grunted.  “You think I can’t control myself?”

She glanced at him.  “That’s exactly what I think.”

With a deep breath, he turned his back.  She quickly unzipped the suitcase and pulled out the shirt Gillian had worn the day before.

“Underwear might work better,” he said.

The damned man had turned back around.  Also–ew.  “If you think I’m giving you a pair of my sister’s dirty underwear, you need to think again.”  She pushed the shirt into his hands.

“You’re not jealous, are you?  I’m not the one who’ll have his nose in it.”  Lachlan smiled, the jerk.

Keira slammed the trunk shut.  “Nobody’s putting their nose in her underwear.  And no, I’m not jealous.”  She wasn’t.  Really.

When she turned, six wolves sat around them while Lachlan held the shirt for each one of them to smell.  It suddenly dawned on her that she was about to send a pack of wolves after her sister.  And how would Gillian react to that?

“We’re good,” Lachlan said.  He tucked the shirt into the waistband of his pants.  “Ready to run?”

The wolves bounded back to the gate, then snuffled around the ground trying to catch Gillian’s scent.

She’d just have to make sure she kept up with them.  If Gillian saw her, she wouldn’t be as likely to fight back.

One of the wolves barked and all the others raised their heads.  The first one jumped in place then ran off across the scrubby grass and down a hill, the others following.  Lachlan ran behind.  “Coming?”

Keira quickly caught up with Lachlan but it became clear he was trailing behind for her sake.  And the others–had she really thought she’d keep up with them?  Being a dragon slayer meant faster reflexes and more highly attuned senses.  It even meant being able to run faster than the average human–but she’d never raced a werewolf before, and for the first time in a long time, she hit her limits.  Werewolves ran faster than dragon slayers.

Damn it.

The only saving grace in this was that it might mean the wolves could catch up with Gillian.  But if she thought they were attacking her, she might kill a few of them before she and Lachlan could catch up.  What would Lachlan think of that?

Lachlan and Keira were still running when the wolves got to the top of a hill and stopped short.

“What are they doing?”  Her voice came out in puffs.  To try to keep up, she was running at her top speed.  “Why don’t they keep going?”

“I don’t know.”

By the time they got to the top of the hill a few minutes later, the wolf named Colin had changed back into a man.  He stood there completely naked and didn’t even try to cover himself up.  Keira worked to keep her eyes on his face.

“Trail ends here.”  Colin pointed at the ground.  “You can see that a struggle went on, but then nothing.”

The grass had been crushed in places and in one spot a gash cut into the dirt.  But Keira didn’t see any blood and she wasn’t sure whether she felt happy about that or disturbed that Gillian hadn’t been able to wound the dragon.

Lachlan pulled out his phone.  “He must have taken her.”

“What?” Keira said.

“Damon must have taken Gill.  It’s the only explanation.”  He held the phone to his ear.

Her hearing was better than human but she couldn’t hear the other end of his conversation.

Lachlan swore.  “Damon, what the hell’s going on?  Where’s the dragon slayer?  Call me back right away.”  He hung up.

At least this time Lachlan had mentioned ‘dragon slayer.’  Even if he was wrong and Damon didn’t recognize his voice, Damon could probably figure it out.

“We may as well go back,” Lachlan said.

Keira pulled out her own phone so she could try Gillian.  “Do you know where the dragon lives?  We could go there next.”

He stepped closer to her.  “Do you know any dragons who share the location of their lair?  Of course I don’t know where he lives.”

Lachlan wasn’t quite right about that.  If they’d been close friends, Damon would have shared the location with him.  It made Keira wonder whether Damon really would recognize Lachlan’s voice.

She called Gillian, but like before, she got her voicemail.  Only one thing to do, and Lachlan wouldn’t like it.  She needed to call her Dragon Slayer Guild contact, Harris, and let him know what had happened.  He could guide her on her next steps.

She couldn’t call Harris with Lachlan listening, though.  She needed to tell Harris that Lachlan thought she was his mate.  That definitely wouldn’t go over well if Lachlan listened in.  She could picture it now–Lachlan ripping the phone from her hand and stomping it into bits.  She needed that phone.

So she’d wait and watch for an opportunity when she could be alone.

#

Lachlan signaled to Colin to change.  He couldn’t be traipsing across the Highlands naked.  Wolf-form would be much easier.

Lachlan would prefer to be in wolf-form, too.  Was this what it would be like to be mated to a non-wolf?  She’d never know the joy of the change and he’d never be able to run with her.

All that he could accept, if she’d just consent to the mating.  Yet she held herself apart and he still felt like she was one second from bolting.  The thought made his skin itch.

“It’s nearly supper time,” he said.  “Let’s eat and then we’ll try again to call.”

She clutched her phone in her hand as they walked down the hill toward the Stronghold.  “Do you think he carried her off?  She’d never have allowed that.  Not as long as she was conscious.”  She looked back at the hill as though expecting to see a black dragon hovering over it, the limp form of her sister in its talons.

“It looks like it.  But lass, Damon wouldn’t hurt her.  Not if he had a choice.”  On the other hand, if Keira’s sister were hurting him, Damon would definitely defend himself.  But she didn’t need to hear that.

“But why would he take her?  Why not just leave her behind?” Keira stumbled a little as she again looked back toward the hill.

Lachlan grabbed her arm and after he’d steadied her, he didn’t let go.  “You’d know that better than me.  What would a dragon want with a dragon slayer?”

“Nothing.”  Her voice sounded confused.  “They leave us behind as quick as they can.”

“Why do you want to kill Damon anyway?” he asked again.  Damon would have a devil of a time finding the world-walker with the dragon slayers after him.

“That’s dragon slayer business.”

He didn’t bother to remind her that her business was now his business.  “What if I promise not to tell anyone?”

She didn’t say anything for several long moments.  “We just wanted to talk to him.  We weren’t here to kill him.”

Lachlan stopped short.  The other wolves had long since left them behind and Lachlan and Keira stood alone, the Stronghold’s towers peeking over the next rise.  “Since when do dragon slayers not slay dragons?”

Her face hardened.  “I can’t tell you that.”  She stalked toward the Stronghold.  The heavy lattice of the iron gate was just visible above the open archway in the gray stone curtain wall.  Beyond it, the towers loomed from other side of the bailey sporting arrow slits and medieval-looking crenelation at the top.

His lass was a tough one.  How long would it take him to break down her barriers and convince her to let him in?  Clearly it wouldn’t be accomplished in an afternoon.

Lachlan followed after Keira, watching the sway of her hips and imagining what she’d look like without all that black leather covering her.  Entranced by the view, he barely noticed the time passing and they reached the Stronghold gates much sooner than he’d expected.  He didn’t want all his wolves to see him ogling her, so he caught up to her and slipped his arm around her waist, steering her in the direction of the door closest to the dining hall.

She didn’t pull away or protest and he took that as a good sign.  For that matter, her reaction back at the car had been positive too.  When he’d curled himself around her, he’d acted on instinct.  When she didn’t immediately throw him off and kick him in the ballocks, he knew he affected her more than he’d realized.  And then when the sweet scent of her arousal reached him...he couldn’t have let her go if he’d wanted to.

So while he didn’t expect she’d open up to him tonight and tell him all her secrets, he nevertheless thought he might be able to get her into bed.  And then all bets were off.

The dining hall was full to bursting when they came through the doors and all heads turned to look at them.  He’d known the word of his mating would spread fast but hadn’t expected so many to turn out.  If he weren’t mistaken, nearly every wolf in the Stronghold sat crammed onto one of the long wooden benches, waiting to get a look at their new Alpha Female.

Considering he hadn’t yet convinced Keira to be his Alpha Female, the situation could’ve been better.  But he didn’t have a choice now.  So he smiled and waved at his friends, family and pack mates as he led his recalcitrant mate to the front table to the two empty seats in the center.

When they remained standing, the wolves in the hall quieted.  “I’ve no doubt you’re all here because of the happy news,” he said.  “May I present my mate, the Dragon Slayer Keira....”

“Harlow,” she whispered.

“Harlow.”  He held her hand up and the room erupted in cheers.

Keira shot him a glance and even though they didn’t know each other well, he had no trouble reading it.  She was being polite, not contradicting him in public, but there’d be hell to pay later.

After a full minute of cheering, Lachlan pulled her chair out and helped her sit before sitting down beside her.  Iain sat on her other side while the chair to Lachlan’s left, normally filled by his sister, sat empty since Moira was away on a trip.  The table was long enough for even more people and someday they’d have chairs filled with Iain and Moira’s mates as well.

Keira leaned toward him, getting close enough that her lips brushed his ear when she whispered.  Lachlan fought to keep from shaking with the urge to haul her into his lap...and then to his bedroom.

“You owe me,” she said.

As she pulled away, he turned his head quickly, almost but not quite touching her lips with his own.  “I’ll be happy to pay,” he said softly.

On the floor below them, his wolves cheered and called out, no doubt thinking Keira and he were engaged in some sort of sexual foreplay.

And who knew?  Maybe they were.

Chapter 4

Keira sat in between Lachlan and his brother Iain, unsure what her next step should be.  While her mind spun, wait staff laid out platters in front of them.  Although the platters were china and silver instead of wooden trenchers and their water had been poured into glasses rather than goblets and they had standard silverware, she nevertheless felt like she’d been trapped in a medieval tableau, sitting at the head table on a dais with the laird of the castle and his second, all their vassals arrayed beneath them.

Lachlan put his hand over hers.  “What would you like to eat?  I’ll serve you.”

And again, she had the sense of being thrust back in time.  Serve her?  Really?  “I can serve myself.”

“Of course you can.  But it would be my privilege to do it for you.”

And that was the problem.  He thought having a mate meant having someone to take care of.  It would be a privilege for him to take care of her.  But she didn’t want anyone to take care of her.  She could do that just fine herself.

Keira almost said that to him, but something about the look on his face—so eager, so yearning—stopped her.  Maybe she could meet him halfway.  “You can pass me the beef.  But I’ll pick my own slice.”  She cleared her throat.

“Of course.”  The beef platter sat nearly on the other side of the table, but his long arms reached it easily.  He held it before her with one hand, the other hand holding the serving fork.  “Which would you like?”

That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant, but she didn’t feel like arguing anymore.  All of a sudden, the whole day’s events hit her and she felt tired, very tired.  “That piece on the right looks good.”

Lachlan forked the sizable piece of meat and put it on her plate.  Then he handed the plate past her to Iain.  “What else?”

They went through the same pattern with the steamed vegetables and the rice.  He tried to interest her in some other dishes, but she wanted something simple.  When she dug in, he was still trying to convince her to try something more.

“Haggis?  How can you come to Scotland without trying haggis?” Lachlan said.

“I’ve come to Scotland many times and so far I’ve managed to avoid eating haggis.  I don’t plan to start now.”  Though she said it with an acerbic tone of voice, both Lachlan and Iain laughed.

“You’re a wise woman,” Iain said.  “I don’t suppose you’ve a sister you could hook me up with?”

Keira stiffened.  She knew he didn’t mean anything by it but didn’t want to be reminded of Gillian.  “My sister’s not for you.”

While Iain sputtered an apology, Lachlan reached behind her and socked his brother in the arm.  “Smooth.”

“I forgot,” Iain said.  “I wasna thinking.”

“Clearly.”  Lachlan rested his hand against her back.  “Don’t let it happen again.”

“I’m all right,” Keira said.  More than that, she was used to fighting her own battles.  And this one wasn’t worth fighting.  But his protectiveness was sweet, if unnecessary.

And then she had to do a double-check.  Had she really just thought his protectiveness was sweet?  What the hell was happening to her?

“On a more somber note,” Iain said, “I’ve got the status on our mobilization.  We should discuss it after dinner.”

That’s right—Lachlan’s burgeoning war with the English werewolves.  She’d never been involved in war preparations before, though she’d read plenty about them.  This might be just the thing to keep her mind off Gillian until she could get her sister on the phone.

Keira still wanted more than anything to go out searching but she’d get nowhere until she could get free of Lachlan.  And in the meantime, she’d rather keep busy than to continue dwelling on her problems.  “I could help.”

“Help with what?” Iain said.

“Your war plans,” she said.  When Iain paused far too long, she said, “I’m a fighter.  And I’ve studied many wars.”

Iain gazed past her at his brother.  “Lachlan.  You’re not really going to let your mate in on something like this.  She’s a female.”

“You’re stuck in the past,” Lachlan said.  “Greer would box your ears if she heard you talking like that.”  As an aside to Keira, he said, “Greer’s the elder of our two sisters.  She’s older and tougher than Iain, though he hates to admit it.”  He put his hand on her thigh.  “And I’d be happy to have you look at the mobilization plans with me.”

Warmth spread from his hand to spots nearby.  Keira swallowed.  He was making everything so difficult.  It would be so much easier to ditch him if she didn’t feel so attracted to him.

She was about to push his hand away when he removed it and damn it all if she didn’t feel suddenly cold with the loss of his warmth.  “Good,” she said.  “We can look at that after dinner.”  And maybe by then she’d have a handle on her riotous emotions.  “But there’s one thing I want to know.  If Greer is tougher than Iain, why isn’t she your second instead of him?”

The corner of Lachlan’s mouth turned up.  “She could be.”

“Could not,” Iain said.

“She could,” Lachlan said forcefully.  “But she doesna want it.  She wants to be the English Alpha.  So she lives down in London under some notion that some day she’ll take Sebastian’s spot.”

“Never happen,” Iain said.

Keira was missing something.  “How could she be the English Alpha?  She’s Scottish.”

“Nay, lass.  Our father was the Scottish Alpha, and his father before him.  But our mother was the daughter of the English and UK Alpha.  He had two daughters and we’ve never had a female Alpha, so when he died, the UK Alpha position came down to me as his eldest grandson.”

Lachlan put his arm around the back of her chair and leaned into her as he continued.  She felt the heat of him all along the side of her body.  “I was already the Scottish Alpha when I became UK Alpha.  I could have become the English Alpha, but only if I’d moved there–and that would’ve meant giving up the Scottish Alpha position.  So I passed on being the English Alpha.”

“I was next in line,” Iain said.  “I could have been the English Alpha but I didn’t want to live in England either.  So I passed as well.”

“And that’s how Sebastian, our cousin, ended up as the English Alpha.  But if women could be Alphas, then Greer would have been in line after me.  And she’s more angry than you can imagine that she got passed over.”

“I can imagine,” Keira said.  “I’d be livid.  There’s no reason a woman can’t lead.”

Lachlan put his hand on the back of her neck, his fingers stroking her.  “I think you and Greer will get along well.”

He was kidding himself if he thought Keira would just settle in here.  “A like-minded woman.  I can’t wait to meet her.  Do you think she’ll help me escape?”

Lachlan removed his hand and she immediately missed the warmth.  “You’re no’ a prisoner, lass.  I’ve told you that.”

“So you’ll let me leave?”

“Of course not.”

She didn’t feel like arguing with him but she did wonder in what universe “not being a prisoner” and “not being allowed to leave” were two different things.

#

Later that evening, Lachlan sat at the table in their smaller conference room, Keira beside him, as they looked over the status report Iain had put together.  Lachlan still felt a combination of pride and happiness that Keira wanted to take part.  She’d make a good Alpha Female as soon as she accepted her fate.

In the meantime, Iain’s report was thorough and a little disturbing.  He’d included information on how ready the Scottish troops were as well as his best guess of the readiness of the English troops.  And he was right—the Scottish mobilization had fallen behind.

Lachlan still didn’t want to believe that in the 21st century the English and Scottish were going to war again.  Because of that, he’d neglected the subject, hoping it would go away.  He’d focused on the world-walker search instead, something far more interesting to him.  But he couldn’t ignore the English any longer.

Lachlan had called up a mere five hundred wolves, while Iain estimated Sebastian had five thousand.  Lachlan had access to plenty more wolves, he just hadn’t thought he needed them.  He’d have to muster them now.

“How does he plan to march north without having the government after him?” Keira said.  “They won’t take kindly to an army traipsing across the countryside.  And I doubt he has enough planes to transport all of them to our doorstep.”

She’d said ‘our’ doorstep.  Lachlan put his arm along the back of her chair.

“No planes,” Iain said.  “He just has trucks like these.”  Iain brought up still shots of army trucks that had to be thirty or forty years old if they were a day.  Sebastian probably bought them surplus.

“This’ll be as much a public relations campaign as a war,” Keira said.  “Has he made any public statements?”

“No,” Lachlan said.  “This is between the wolf packs.  He knows that.”

“It won’t be, once his wolves start moving north.”  Keira shifted in her chair so she could face him.  “You can get out in front of that.  Make a statement yourself and make him the bad guy.  Then when the government comes calling, they’ll be breathing down his neck, not yours.”

Iain propped himself on the edge of the table.  “It’s not a bad idea.  And she’s right—non-wolves will be involved, whether we like it or not.  Better to do it on our terms.  Plus, I don’t think Sebastian will think of it.”

Lachlan rubbed his thumb across Keira’s shoulder.  “So we have an advantage—my mate’s brain.”

Keira shot him a glance while Iain laughed.

“This seems like the perfect moment for a quick kiss,” Lachlan said.  “Too bad you won’t let me.  Yet.”  He gazed at her lips, partly enraptured and partly curious about what she would do.

Keira slowly moved her hand upward, finally touching her mouth with her fingertips.  Heat rushed through him and he licked his lips.  She sucked in her breath.

Iain cleared his throat.  “Let’s finish this up so you two can find a room.”

“No.  No, we can’t.”  Keira’s voice didn’t have much strength to it.  She looked away.

A room sounded really good to him.  His mate didn’t seem as immune to him as she pretended.

“Call for more troops.”  Lachlan couldn’t stop looking at Keira, even while he tried to finish up their meeting.  “Talk to Mattie about the press conference; she’s American like Keira, and Americans have a lot more experience with that sort of thing.  And send an email to General Wilson’s secretary to get me fifteen minutes on the General’s calendar.  I should let her know what’s happening.  Maybe it’ll keep her from bombing the lot of us.”  General Wilson was the Chief of the Defence Staff of the British Armed Forces.

“Good thinking,” Iain said.

Lachlan stood, the chair scraping against the floor.  “Keep me updated with the progress.”  He pulled Keira to her feet.  In a flash, he realized he’d never had a room prepared for her.  What were the chances she’d be willing to stay in his room that night?  All the wolves would expect it, though everyone knew non-wolf mates sometimes needed to be wooed.  More important was what Keira thought.

Then all of a sudden, he remembered something else he’d forgotten.  “What time are our sisters getting in tomorrow?”

Iain crowed.  “I forgot all about that.  Aunt Lorna’s coming too.  Did you tell them about Keira?”

“When would I have told them?”

“Oh, you two are so in for it.”

“Your aunt is coming to visit?”  This didn’t seem like the best time for house guests.

Lachlan slid his arm around her.  “Not to visit.  She and Moira have been away, visiting my sister Greer in London, and they’re all coming home tomorrow.  But she’s not really our aunt.  She’s our late mother’s best friend.  Almost like a second mother now that our own mother’s gone.”

“Greer and Moira will both be with her.  With the impending war, we wanted them all back here.”  Iain stood as well then leaned back against the table.  “Aunt Lorna and Moira live here with us.  Greer lives in London.  Who knows why.”

“You know why.”  Lachlan tugged Keira a little closer, unable to resist.  “She can’t help but stay there as a little dig against our cousin.”

“And yet she refuses to meet with him,” Iain said.

“And that’s on purpose, too.”  Greer had a stubborn streak a mile wide and she knew how to hold a grudge.  Staying in London and purposely snubbing the English Alpha was exactly the sort of thing she’d do.  Lachlan was just glad she’d never held a grudge against him.

Lachlan pulled Keira toward the door.  “We’ll see you tomorrow.  If they arrive before we get up, give them our excuses.”

“What?” Keira said.

Iain just laughed.

#

Lachlan didn’t release Keira even when they were clear of the room and while she knew she should pull away, she didn’t.  She’d never felt so comfortable having a man touch her and hold her.  She didn’t want it to stop.  At the same time, she knew it would be that much harder to leave if she let him get under her skin.

“I have to apologize,” Lachlan said.

“Uh-oh.”

“A lot happened today, and in all the ruckus, I didn’t think to have a room prepared for you.”

She stopped walking.  “What does that mean?”

“I think ye’ll have to stay with me.”

Keira sucked in her breath.  “You know I can’t do that.”

The hand that had been behind her back settled on her hip while he brushed some hairs back from her cheek with the other.  “I know you feel this thing between us.  You haven’t been as good at hiding your arousal as you think.”

She felt a warmth in her cheeks.  “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t change anything.  We aren’t right for each other.  Sleeping together would just make everything worse.”

He took a small step forward, his body nearly bumping hers.  “How so?”

“You know.”  When he didn’t say anything, she continued.  “Sex creates the illusion of intimacy.  We’ll feel like we have deep feelings for each other even though it’s only lust.”

His head dipped, his face coming within centimeters of hers.  “This isna lust, lass.  This is mating fever.  And it’ll lead to a love as lasting as any.  I know the difference.”

“Dragon slayers don’t get mating fever.”  They were human that way.  Like humans, they fell in love and out of it, married, divorced, had their hearts shattered into pieces.  They didn’t get a mating fever that led to an everlasting love.  She couldn’t even imagine such a thing.

“Mates do.  You might not be a wolf but by being my mate, you’ve a touch of the fever yourself.  It varies based on species and even from person to person.  But based on your reaction to me, I’d say you’ve got it good.”  His hand cupped her cheek.  “What would it hurt to share my bed tonight?”

Chapter 5

Lachlan’s hand slid down Keira’s throat to her collarbone then edged lower.  Heart pounding, she grabbed his forearm and held it in place before his hand could close over her breast.  “I already told you what it would hurt.”

“You spouted a lot of scientific nonsense that has nothing to do with us.  If you’re truly as immune as you say you are, then sharing my bed shouldn’t affect you at all.  And if you’re not immune, then maybe I’m right.  Maybe we’re mates and you’re drawn to me in spite of what you keep telling yourself.”

“I don’t jump into bed with men I’ve just met,” Keira said.  “If you can’t find me a place to sleep, I’ll find a corner somewhere and sleep on the floor.”

Lachlan reeled backward.  “You don’t really think I’d let my mate, the future Alpha Female of the UK, sleep on the floor?”

“I’ve slept in worst places.”

“Not when under my care, you haven’t.”  Taking her arm, he led her forward.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll sleep in my bed.  I’ll find somewhere else to bunk.”

Some part of her wanted to protest but when it came down to it, it was a good idea.  And it was his fault for not finding her a bed in the first place.  “Don’t you have servants?”

He glanced down at her.  “Of course.  But it’s late.  They’ll have all gone home to their own rooms by now.”

“So this place isn’t as medieval as it looks.”

“No, it’s not.”

They were silent for several minutes as Lachlan led her through the labyrinthine hallways.  She’d always been good with finding her way around, so as they walked, she paid attention to the turns and the landmarks she saw.  She wasn’t planning an escape attempt immediately but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

When he opened a wooden door much like the others up and down the hall, they stepped into a luxurious suite.  Apparently it paid to be Alpha.  Besides being large with high ceilings, the décor was plush—thick rugs on the stone floors, a massive fireplace that looked like it was used regularly, and a four poster bed high enough off the floor that a shorter person would have to jump up to get on top of it.  The coloring supported the lush but masculine vibe with deep burgundies, various shades of brown and tan, and touches of gold throughout.

“The bed’s a king size,” Lachlan said.  “If I promise to stay on my side of the bed, maybe we could share it?”  He closed the door behind them.

“The only problem I have with that scenario is that I don’t trust you to be in the same bed with me and not make a move.”

Lachlan bent by the fireplace, threw some newspaper onto the grate and piled a few sticks on top, then pulled out a very long match.  “You’re no doubt right.”

“Did you really just agree with me?”

He struck the match and held it under the newspaper.  “Have I given you the impression I think you’re often wrong?  If so, I apologize.”

Keira walked to where he knelt, watching as he fed more sticks to the fledgling fire.  The daytime had been warm enough but already she could feel the cold of the fall evening creeping in.  A fire would be welcome.  “It seems like we’ve been at odds since I got here.”

“It doesn’t have to stay that way.  I want a partnership with my mate.”  He patted her foot then grabbed another stick.  “We’ll get there.  All in good time.”

And once again, he confounded her.  A chill stole over her as she realized what she’d already known—he meant every bit of what he’d said.  He really did think they were mates and he meant to keep her trapped here until she agreed with him.

She needed to call her guild contact.

“We’ve forgotten something.  My suitcase is still in the trunk of my car.  I could go get it.”

He laughed.  “Right.  You’d never come back again.”  He stood, the fire burning steadily.  “No need.  Mattie thought of it.  She and Colin brought both the suitcases here, since they weren’t sure which was yours.”

He pointed toward the far wall next to the door.  Sure enough, her suitcase sat neatly next to Gillian’s.  “You thought of this but not about a room?”

“Mattie thought of it.  She texted me to let me know but we were in the middle of dinner.  I didn’t think about the rooms and she and Colin must have assumed you’d sleep with me, because she didn’t ask.”  He stepped closer, trailing the back of his forefinger down her cheek.  “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

With just that simple touch, her heart started to pound and her body turned liquid.  “Oh, it’s far too late.”  She stepped away and walked to her suitcase.  “I’m going to need some privacy.”

He gazed at her until she finally stood and looked back at him.  He blinked and looked away.  “Privacy.  I’ll leave.  Will ten minutes be enough?”

Just barely.  “Yes, that’s fine.  Where’s the bathroom?”

He pointed to a door on the far side of the bed.  “Don’t be alarmed.  It’s not medieval.”

Thank goodness for small favors.

A few minutes later, she locked herself in the bathroom with her pajamas, toothbrush and cell phone.  First things first—she needed to call Harris.  She dumped everything else on the vanity and went to the far side of the bathroom to dial.

With his damned werewolf hearing, Lachlan would probably be able to hear her if he came back before she finished.  So she’d better call quickly and get off the phone before he got back.

While the phone rang, she looked around the bathroom.  He hadn’t been kidding—it looked like the bathroom of a luxury hotel, not something carved out of a centuries-old castle.  A large, deep tub sat beside a shower stall big enough for two.  The vanity had two sinks and mirrors that opened up onto shelves.  Half of the shelves were empty.

Everything in his suite was big enough for two.  He’d made this all for his mate.

Harris picked up before she had a chance to think about that.  “You’re early,” he said in his usual gruff tone.

“It’s Keira.  There’s trouble.  I can’t talk long.  Has Gillian called in?”

“No.”

Damn.  “We got separated.  I’ve been captured by the Alpha Werewolf of the UK, and he’s convinced I’m his mate.  I can’t get ahold of Gillian.  I think something may have happened to her.”

“Does this wolf have you in chains?  Why haven’t you gone after her?”

Here was the tricky part—Harris couldn’t know that she and Gillian had gone after Damon Knightley.  Last they’d told him, they were still tracking down leads on Knightley but hadn’t turned up anything.  “We tried.  He had some of his wolves track her scent, but then they lost it.  We’ve no idea where she’s gone but it looks like a dragon took her.”

“Did you see a dragon?”

“It’s the only thing I can come up with.  She wouldn’t have left me otherwise and her scent trail disappears as though she were taken into the air.”  She purposely didn’t answer his question.  “Can you track her phone?”

Harris grunted.  “I’ll call you back.”  Translation—he’d check on the phone and let her know if he found anything.  If he didn’t find anything, he wouldn’t bother to call.

“I’ll answer if I can but the situation here is tenuous.”

“Then leave.  You know damn well he can’t hold you if you want to get out.”

Something in her balked at the idea.  He was right; of course he was right.  But she wasn’t quite ready to leave.

“I’ve got to go before he comes back.  Call me if you find anything out about Gill.”

Harris grunted again then hung up.

Keira brushed her teeth while changing into her pajamas and managed to get out into the bedroom just as Lachlan opened the hallway door.  He stopped in the open doorway and looked at her as though he wanted to eat her up.

Her faded cream-colored pajama top and plaid shorts were nothing to get excited about.  So what was he staring at?

Lachlan slammed the door behind him.  “Do you know what you’re wearing?”

Keira deposited her clothes on top of her open suitcase, taking care not to let him get behind her as he paced closer and closer.  The last thing she needed was a repeat of that afternoon when she leaned over the trunk of her car.  “Uh…pajamas?”

He tugged on the bottom of her shorts.  “My plaid.”

Oh, crap.  Really?  Of all the plaids in the world, she had to wear his?  “I guess you think that means something.”

“Sure it does.  It’s fate.  Just like you hunting down Damon in the middle of my home instead of all the other places you might have found him.”  The tips of his fingers clung to the hem of her shorts.  “What did you say you wanted with Damon?”

“That’s dragon slayer business.”

“I’ve heard that before.”  He didn’t take a step but somehow got even closer to her, his gaze intent on her lips.

“And you’ll hear it again.  I can’t tell you.”  She tried to step back but his grip on her shorts was stronger than she’d realized.  “Let go.”

“Never.”  The word came out soft but with plenty of conviction.  “Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you in my plaid?”  He took a step into her.

She backed up and found herself flat against the wall.

Lachlan leaned his forearm against it next to her head and leaned even closer.  “I think a good night kiss is in order.”

She heard her heart pounding in her ears and her mouth went suddenly dry.  This was a very, very bad idea and she knew it.  But oh, how she wanted to kiss him.  And the wanting made the idea that much worse.

As he moved closer, he braced his other hand against the wall, right by her hip.  He wasn’t touching her anywhere, but she felt like he was.  Every inch of her skin felt alive.  Alive and yearning.

His nose bumped against hers as he moved his mouth into position.  Then he hovered there, his lips just a breath away from hers.

What the hell was he waiting for?  The urge to lift her head just a bit and touch her lips to his felt almost overwhelming.  Seconds passed into a minute while her belly clenched and she tightened her hands into fists, trying not to touch him.

Enough.  She tilted her chin and caught his mouth with hers.

As though he’d been waiting for her permission, he grabbed her and hauled her against him, his arms holding her tight while he plundered her mouth.  She met him stroke for stroke, her arms around his back, her mouth opening under his.  Desire rushed through her, stimulating nerve endings and causing her pussy to grow wet.  She squeezed him tighter, trying to get as close as she could to him.

Lachlan swung her up into his arms and strode for the bed, never releasing her lips.  She barely felt it when he laid her down, until his body pressed her into the mattress, his hard legs pushing her thighs open.

He moved back for the merest breath and she remembered.  What the hell was she doing?

But oh, it felt so good.  He kissed her again and she fought with herself.  She should make him stop.  And she really, really didn’t want to.

When his hand closed over her breast she knew she had to stop him then or she wouldn’t stop him at all.  “Wait.”  Her voice sounded dry.

“Do not say no, lass,” he rumbled in her ear.  His lips kissed down her throat to her shoulder.

She swallowed, trying to remember why this was such a bad...hot, sweaty, pulse-pounding...awful idea.  “I never said yes.”

He moaned deep in his throat and ran his hand up her thigh to the junction of her legs.  “Do you think I can’t smell you?”

“What?” she whispered.

Lachlan kissed her cheek, moving toward her mouth.  His hand cupped her pussy.  “Your sweet, heady nectar.  I smell you, mate.  You’re as ready for me as I am for you.”

She struggled to adopt her most imperious tone.  “Be that as it may--”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating against her skin where his mouth pressed against her chin.  “We’re not in court.”  He pressed his lips to hers, his hand gently massaging her pussy.

She wasn’t ready to give up yet but one more kiss wouldn’t hurt.  Right?  She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and kissed him back as thoroughly as he kissed her.

In her new position, his hard cock pressed against her even more directly than before.  He rocked against her, rubbing her clit with each stroke until she felt a fire growing within her.

What was he doing to her?  She barely knew the man.  Sleeping with him would only encourage his ideas and the false sense of intimacy it would create would cloud her judgment too.  She might actually start believing him.  Which meant she had to stop this.  Right.  Now.

Keira got her hands against his shoulders and shoved him until he lay on his back with her over him.

Lachlan grabbed her waist.  “You could have just told me you wanted to be on top.”

“I don’t.”  Keira had to pull to get away from his hands but succeeded in climbing off the bed.  “We’re stopping.”

His groan was heartfelt...and loud.  “You must be kidding.”

She backed up almost to the wall, the temptation of him lying on the bed nearly too much to resist.  “Don’t give me any bull about not being able to stop.  I know you can.”

“Of course I can.”  He propped up on his elbow, his gaze intense.  “I just don’t want to.”

“Well, you’re going to.  We went farther than I wanted.”  She laced her fingers through her hair.  “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me in the first place.”

“No, lass.  You kissed me.  I made sure of that.”  He climbed out of the bed.  “I’ll take my turn in the bathroom.”  He went out of his way to walk past the hallway door, locking and barring it.

“It locks from the inside,” she said.  “Do you think I can’t unlock it?”

“I think I’ll hear you if you try and I can get back here before you’ve even lifted the bar.  It pays to be a werewolf.”

Damned werewolves.  Super hearing, super smelling, super speed.  Super sexiness.  What the hell was she going to do with him?

#

When Lachlan first woke up, he didn’t remember why he was sleeping on the thick rug in front of the fireplace instead of in his bed a few feet away.  When he remembered, his cock grew instantly, painfully hard.  Keira slept so close and yet he couldn’t get any closer.  Not yet.

The firelight flickered in the dark room; it must still be the middle of the night.

Her reactions earlier had both encouraged and pained him.  To have her respond so eagerly felt amazing.  Then to have her pull away hurt that much more.  He was ready to mark her but she clearly wasn’t ready.

Lachlan climbed to his feet and padded over to the foot of his bed.  Keira lay curled on her side, her hands near her face.  Such an innocent pose for such a deadly woman.

He hadn’t watched her for more than a minute when her eyes opened.  Good reflexes.  She gazed back at him for several seconds, then finally spoke.  “My, grandmother, what big teeth you have.”

He grinned, leaning his forearms on the footboard of the bed.  “I think you skipped a few steps there.  What about my big eyes?”

“Just cutting right to the chase.”

That sounded like her.

Keira pushed to her elbow.  “I won’t make a good mate.  You should find someone else.”

Chapter 6

Lachlan shifted his arms where they rested on the footboard.  “There is no one else.  Even if you don’t know much about werewolves, you must know that.  We get one fated mate.  The mating can’t be broken.  And if we can’t be with our mates, we go mad.  So you see, I’m yours for life.  And if you leave me, my life will be short indeed.”

Lachlan’s friend Darius had just gone through this, having to woo his non-werewolf mate.  Darius had it worse, though, because his mate was the daughter of his staunchest enemy.  Darius had tried to break the mating and learned the consequences.  The thought made Lachlan’s wolf want to howl.  “There’s no other way, lass.  I’m with you.  We’ll make it work somehow.”

“Dragon slayers roam.  We work in pairs, the partnership as tight as any.  With Gill and me, it’s even tighter, since we’re not just sisters but twins.”

He wasn’t sure what made his mate so chatty–maybe the late hour and being half-asleep had loosened her tongue.  In any case, he planned to keep her talking until she wouldn’t talk anymore.  “Do you have special abilities as twins?”

“We do.  Unfortunately, I’ve never had a sixth sense about where she was or how she was.  That would really come in handy right now.  Instead, our abilities tend to work best when we’re together.  When we’re fighting, I know what she’ll do before she does it.  I can throw a weapon in her direction when she has her back turned, not say a word, and she’ll know to turn and catch it.  Things like that.  But separated like this, we’re...we’re not whole.”

He could guess how that felt.  Probably the way he felt just thinking about Keira leaving him.  “We’ll find her.  I promise.”

She sat up all the way.  “I know.  I won’t rest until I do.”  She paused.  “What I meant was...Gill and I are a pair.  We do everything together.”

“There’s no room for me, you mean.”

“That sounds so harsh.  It’s more than that, though.  We roam.  We’re never in one spot for long.  We don’t even have a home anymore, just a room at the guild that they grudgingly allow us to keep a few boxes in.  You’d want me to stay here, with you.  I can’t.”

He couldn’t imagine not having a home.  “You’re right that I want you to stay here.  But you’re wrong in thinking there aren’t any solutions.  If you decide to stay with me, we can work everything out.  Just choose me.”

She stayed quiet for what felt like a long time, then said, “You’re asking so much.”

“I’m prepared to give everything.  All of me.”  His heart felt like it was drumming in his chest, his blood whooshing through his ears.  What if she said no?  What if she left?

“I’m not ready to decide.  I need more time.”

He leaned toward her.  “Is that a good sign or a bad one?”

She crossed her legs and leaned forward on them.  Must be pretty flexible to do that and not hurt.  “I’m not saying no.  That’s got to be a good thing.  But I don’t want to encourage you.  I might still decide I can’t do this.”

Not exactly what he wanted to hear, but it could be worse.  And he was rushing her; he knew he was.

In the quiet room, everything felt slow and hushed.  He waited a moment before saying, “I’d better get back to my rug.  Unless you’d like me to join you?”

“Still too soon for that, too.  Go on back to the rug.”

As she curled up under the covers, he took one last look and returned to the fireplace.  He knew they were coming from different places.  The mating urge he felt eclipsed what she felt many times over.  Plus, he came from a society that prized their fated mates.  He’d always known he’d find his mate and immediately feel a bond, even if love itself grew slowly.  But for her, everything was different.

In the end, he didn’t have any idea how he would do it, but he’d win her.  He had to.

#

Lachlan’s cell rang just as Keira was getting out of the shower.  He’d woken first and gotten himself cleaned up then waited while she got ready, trying desperately not to picture her naked with water streaming down her body.

He’d called Darius the night before to tell him what Damon had said about the world-walker.  He hadn’t had long–just the ten minutes while waiting for Keira–so Darius might still have questions.  He could be the one calling now, although it was early hours over in the States.

When Lachlan answered the phone, Iain immediately said, “Greer didn’t make it.”

Ice water swept over him.  “What?”

“Aunt Lorna and Moira are here but Greer was captured.  We need you.”

Lachlan remembered to breathe.  When Iain said Greer hadn’t made it, Lachlan had thought their sister was dead.  “Where?”

“Front receiving room.”

Lachlan hung up.  He needed to go, but what about Keira?  He knocked on the bathroom door.  “How close are you to ready?”  Getting a guard to come would take time.  And no matter how much he protested that she wasn’t a prisoner, he didn’t want to leave her alone.  She’d bolt.  So if she was close to ready, he’d rather wait for her to finish and take her with him than wait for a guard.

She cracked the door open.  “Almost done.”

She must be, or she wouldn’t have opened the door.  Her scent drifted out to him and he moved away rather than be subject to instant arousal.  Again.

He fidgeted for thirty seconds and then the door opened the rest of the way and Keira emerged, fully dressed.  “Hungry?”

“We’re going to have to make a detour.”  Lachlan took her arm and strode for the door.  “Something’s happened.”

She hurried to keep up with his long legs as they left the room and sped down the corridor.  “Are the English attacking?”

“Not in so many words but yes.”  He quickly told her about Iain’s phone call.  “That’s all I know.  We’ll find out more when we get there.”

Luckily, his room sat not too far from the front of the castle, so they reached their destination in less than two minutes.

Aunt Lorna stood by the front window, literally wringing her hands.  Moira paced while Iain sat on the couch tapping away at his computer, an intent look on his face.  Aunt Lorna and Lachlan’s mother might have been best friends but it was Moira who reminded him of their mother, from the long blond hair falling between her shoulder blades to the fierce look on her pretty face.  Aunt Lorna had dark hair and brown eyes and a lot of soft curves.

“Aunt Lorna,” Lachlan said.

She hurried to him and threw her arms around his neck.  “They took her.”  She shook.

Lachlan held her, rubbing her back.  “She’ll be all right.  They wouldn’t dare hurt her.  They just want leverage against us.”  He wasn’t sure he believed that himself but he certainly wasn’t going to say any differently to their aunt.

After a minute or so, she pulled away.  “Do something, Lachlan.  She sacrificed herself for us.”

“What?”  He needed details and this was as good a place to start as any.  While he led Aunt Lorna to the couch, Keira followed behind them.

Aunt Lorna looked at Keira for the first time.  “Who’s this?”

“Ah…”  Lachlan glanced at Keira but found no help there.  “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”  He took Keira’s hand and pulled her forward.  “I found my mate.”

Aunt Lorna’s eyes filled with tears.  “How wonderful.”  She hugged Keira.  “Welcome to the family.”

His mate kindly didn’t refute him in front of his aunt.  “Thank you,” she said.  “I’m so sorry it had to happen at a time like this.”

“No, no,” Aunt Lorna said.  “There’s no wrong time to find your mate.  And the hard times are when you need the support of your mate the most.”

Aunt Lorna sat down next to Iain while Lachlan hauled two chairs over to sit directly in front of them.  Moira continued to pace.

“What happened?”  Lachlan waited until Keira took a seat before sitting down.  He should really wait for Moira too, but if he knew his sister, she wouldn’t sit anytime soon.

Aunt Lorna crossed her legs delicately and clasped her hands.  “As we were getting ready to leave for the train, Greer called us.  She told us to leave immediately, even though we hadn’t finished packing.  Some of Sebastian’s thugs had arrived at her house just as she was pulling out of the drive and she barely escaped them.”

Aunt Lorna sucked in a breath.  “We grabbed what we could and jumped into the car but before we could back out a couple of SUVs blocked our path.  At least six of Sebastian’s wolves got out.”

How dare Sebastian threaten his family?  Lachlan felt his hands curl into fists and slowed his breathing down to keep control of his wolf.

“We got out too, thinking maybe we could get into the house.  Then Greer pulled up.  She attacked Sebastian’s wolves while yelling at us to get into her car.”  Aunt Lorna paused.  “Greer’s always been strong, but six.  Lachlan, she fought six wolves at the same time.”

He reached over and grabbed her hand.  “She’s the strongest female wolf I’ve ever known.”  He didn’t know what else to say.  “Then what?”

“We got in her car.  Moira took the driver seat.  All Greer had to do was jump in the back.”  Aunt Lorna stopped again, taking another breath.  “She couldn’t get away from them.  There were too many.  Four of them got her onto the ground and sat on top of her and the other two came toward us.”  Her voice broke.  “She yelled at us, told us to leave.  I couldn’t--”

“I could.”  Moira stopped pacing.  “Greer was right.  There was no reason for all three of us to be taken and Aunt Lorna and I aren’t fighters.  We couldn’t have saved her.  So I drove off as fast as I could.”  As soon as she stopped talking, she started walking again.

“They gave chase but we had a head start and Moira’s a quick driver.  Instead of going to Charing Cross we drove to King’s Cross and took the train from there in case they knew our plans.”  Aunt Lorna squeezed Lachlan’s hand.  “We made it, but they still have her, Lachlan.”

“We’ll get her back,” he said.  “Iain, have we heard anything?”  Sebastian should have contacted them by now with demands.

“My first thought too,” his brother said.  “But no, nothing.”

An awful thought occurred to Lachlan.  “Are you sure they were Sebastian’s wolves?”  There couldn’t be a rogue group mucking things up, could there?

Mother’s fist clenched.  “Yes.  When we first got out of the car, one of them told us they were taking us into custody for our protection, on Sebastian’s orders.”

“Just because they said they worked for Sebastian doesn’t mean they do,” Iain said.

“I recognized at least two of them,” Moira said.  “From Sebastian’s parties.”

Still not conclusive but it was good enough for now.  Lachlan stood.  “I’m going to call Sebastian and find out what the hell he’s thinking.  Why don’t the rest of you get some breakfast?  I’ll meet you in the dining hall when I’m done.”

“I want to be there when you call,” Moira said.

Bad idea.  Of all his siblings, Lachlan had the coolest head.  Moira, on the other hand, acted on emotion.  If Sebastian said something that upset her, she could ruin everything.  And in her current state, she would be even quicker to take offense.  “It’s better if I do this alone.  But I’ll record the call if you want to listen afterward.”

Moira stared at him for one breath, two breaths, then said, “Fine.”

She must really be upset if she didn’t fight harder than that.  But Lachlan wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  He strode toward the door.  “See you soon.”

And now to find out why Greer had been kidnapped.

#

Keira couldn’t quite believe her so-called mate had left her with his family.  When he stalked out of the room she tried to follow, but his aunt grabbed her hand and said, “It’s so good to meet you.  Lachlan didn’t even tell us your name.”

And in that moment, Lachlan disappeared around the corner.  Lout.

“Keira Harlow,” she said.  “It’s good to meet you, too.”

Lachlan’s aunt stood.  “Call me Lorna.”  She slipped her arm through Keira’s and started toward the door, pulling Keira along with her.  “Lachlan’s the first of my nieces and nephews to find their mate.  I never had children of my own but I was lifelong friends with their mother Rosslyn and helped raise her four.  They’re like my own.”

Aw, hell.  Should she let Lachlan’s aunt keep talking like this or let her know this whole mate-thing wasn’t going to stick?

“You must tell me all about yourself.”  Lorna patted her hand.  “Please.  It’ll keep my mind off of other things.”

Ah, Gods.  She didn’t like talking about herself in the first place and now Lachlan’s aunt wanted her to give a running monologue.  Worse, she felt for the woman.  She knew exactly what it felt like to have someone she loved stolen away.

So, she’d do her best.  “Well, I’m not sure where to start.  You can probably tell I’m not a wolf.”  The two of them entered the hallway.  Iain and Moira followed.

“No, I didn’t know,” Lorna said.  “I’m human, myself.  I take it you are too?”

“Not exactly,” Keira said.  “I’m a dragon slayer.”

Lorna gazed at her, leading them around a corner without ever taking her eyes off Keira.  “I’ve heard of dragon slayers.  I didn’t realize you weren’t human, though.”

“More like human with a few modifications.”  See?  As long as she talked about impersonal things, she could do this.  “We believe we were born from the dreams about heroes.  And so our race has physical prowess and enhanced senses like you might expect from a mythic hero.”

“Do you really slay dragon shifters?” Moira said.

Suddenly Keira felt like she needed to be careful.  The two wolf shifters behind her might just see themselves as having a lot in common with the dragons she hunted.  She might be in trouble if she said the wrong thing.  “Not indiscriminately, no.  Dragon shifters are sometimes more dragon than anything else.  If they start to terrorize the communities around them, we get called in.”  Okay, so she left out a whole lot there–like the hotheads in her order who believed the only good dragons were dead dragons--but hopefully her omissions would keep her out of hot water.

“I suppose dragon shifters can lose themselves to their beasts the same as anyone,” Lorna said.  “But they’d be a mite bigger and harder to stop.”

“Exactly,” Keira said.

“So how did you two meet?” Lorna said.

Iain barked out a laugh.  “This should be interesting.”

Fighting the urge to knock Iain down a peg, Keira said, “My sister and I tracked a dragon to the hall here.  Lachlan was meeting with the dragon at the time and he scented me when we came in.”

“A rogue dragon was in the Stronghold?” Lorna said.

Oh, crap.  She’d talked her way into a corner with that one.  She couldn’t tell them all why they’d really been stalking Damon Knightley but if she didn’t, it would sound like she’d been lying about only hunting dragons who’d gone over the edge.  Which she had been, but they didn’t need to know that.  “There was no danger.  The problem is, when the dragon fled my sister went after him.  Lachlan grabbed me and wouldn’t let me follow her.  When I finally convinced him to let me try to find her, she’d vanished.  I still don’t know where she is.”

“Your sister’s missing?” Moira said.  “Then what are you doing here?”

Before Keira could answer, Iain said, “Lachlan’s afraid she’ll never come back if he lets her go.  And with good reason.”

Lorna’s face fell, though she didn’t let go of Keira’s arm.  “My nephew overstated things when he introduced you as his mate, didn’t he?  You haven’t accepted him yet.”

Shit.  Why the hell did Lachlan leave her with this mess?  “No, I haven’t.”

“Did he explain to you how important it is?” Lorna said.

“I can’t believe he’ll die of a broken heart.”  Keira had heard him the night before but it still didn’t make sense.

“It’s magic,” Lorna said.  “You realize that.  Magic has its own rules and penalties.  For others, a broken heart is something they can get over and move past.  For werewolves, the pain is much, much greater.  They don’t last long if their mates leave them–whether of their own accord or through death.”  She squeezed Keira’s arm.  “That’s how we lost Rosslyn.  Lachlan’s father Ennis died and Rosslyn couldn’t handle it.  She held on for three weeks then took her own life.”  She stopped and looked Keira in the eye.  “Please don’t take Lachlan from us.”

Chapter 7

Oh, Gods.  A heartfelt plea from Lachlan’s mother.  How the hell was Keira supposed to walk away from that?

“There’s more, of course.  That’s the stick.  But there’s a carrot as well.  Did my son tell you about that?”

“No,” Keira said.

“You’ve never had sex like the kind you’ll have with your mate,” Lorna said.  “It’s magnificent.”

Moira clapped her hands over her ears while Iain said, “I didn’t hear that.”

Lorna rolled her eyes.  “And the love, the intimacy.  You can’t imagine.  I had boyfriends before I met my mate and even thought myself in love but I had no idea what love really was.  You must accept Lachlan, Keira.  It’ll be the best decision you ever make and you’ll never regret it.”

Keira didn’t want to get into the reasons for her hesitancy with Lachlan’s aunt while his siblings listened on.  Despite everything Lorna had said, obstacles still remained–Keira’s partnership with her sister, the nomadic life she lived.  Every single part of her life would change if she accepted him and she couldn’t do it.  She liked her life.  But she didn’t want to say that to his aunt, either.  “I’ll think about it.”

#

Lachlan checked his email and texts on the way to his office and found a note from the General’s personal assistant saying he could talk to her at nine that morning.  He had just enough time to call Sebastian before he needed to talk to the General.

Once in his office, Lachlan dialed Sebastian and waited for his cousin to answer the phone.  He supposed he should have brought Keira with him but there hadn’t been time to extract her without Moira and Iain wanting to tag along.  She’d be safe with his family–and they wouldn’t let her go anywhere.

Sebastian picked up.  “Lachlan.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Slimy bastard.  “Why have you detained Greer?”

“Why do you think?  She’s a high-value prisoner of war.”

No more than he’d expected.  Still, he had to play the game.  “So we’re at war now?  I didn’t realize.  I’ll have to bring out the boiling oil.”

“Don’t be obtuse.  Of course we’re at war.  Do you think I don’t know you’ve been mobilizing?”

“You mobilized first.”  As soon as the words left his mouth, Lachlan realized how much they sounded like two children on the playground.  Is this what war was?  Two overgrown boys who’d gone beyond punches to bullets?  “I distinctly remember ordering you to stand down.”

“You provoked me,” Sebastian said.  “But if you’d like to avoid all of this, it’s very easy.  Just yield to me as the UK Alpha and all of this can go away.”

Never.  And Sebastian knew it.  “Release Greer immediately or you’ll be very sorry.”

“Threats, cousin?  You’d never attack me, not knowing where Greer is.  You might kill her by accident.  Stand down now and I’ll go easy on you.  I won’t even humiliate you in front of your wolves.”

Sebastian had to be smoking something if he thought Lachlan would step down.  And Greer–if Greer found out Lachlan had stepped down because of her, she’d kill him herself.  So, no concessions to Sebastian on Greer’s behalf.  But that didn’t mean Lachlan wouldn’t rescue her.  He’d just need to do it through other means.

Time for Sebastian to know what he faced.  “You’re not as strong as I am.  You never have been.  Hell, you’re not as strong as Greer or Iain.  If you think for one second you could hold the top spot over the Scottish wolves, you need to think again.  You’ll have to kill me.  And if you kill me, my wolves will never stop coming after you.  Think long and hard before you make another move.  Even if you succeed–and that’s a big if–you’ll lose.”

He paused.  “Hurt my sister and I’ll kill you myself.”  Lachlan hung up.

So much for that.  At least he’d confirmed that Sebastian had Greer and that she wasn’t being held by some unknown third party.  And as much as Lachlan detested Sebastian, he’d yet to see his cousin doing anything truly awful–like torture.

That didn’t mean he wanted to leave Greer in Sebastian’s hands for long.  As long as she stayed with him, Lachlan would never be sure she was okay and she’d remain a bargaining chip in the conflict.  He had to get her out.

Lachlan called Iain.  “Call Brodie and get him to find out where Sebastian is holding Greer.”

“Are you coming to breakfast?”  Iain said.  “Your mate wants you badly.”  A thump sounded in the background.

“What was that?”

“No worries, I’ve got it under control.  For now.  Just don’t take too long.”

“Call Brodie.  And tell Keira I’ll be there soon.”  Lachlan hung up.

One more phone call, then he’d join them at breakfast.  He called the General’s assistant, knowing he’d put Lachlan through to the General.  Even the UK Alpha didn’t get the General’s direct phone number.

A few minutes later, the General picked up the line.  “Lachlan,” she said.  “How are you?”

“I’m good.  And you?”

“Fine, fine.  I assume you’re calling to let me know why you and your cousin are amassing troops and to assure me you aren’t about to go to war.”

It was just like General Wilson to cut to the chase.  “I’m doing everything in my power to stop this before it escalates to war.”

The General harrumphed.  “That’s not very encouraging.”

“It’s the English Alpha who wants war.  If he continues to press the issue, I’ll have to meet him in battle.  But I want to avoid that.”

“You understand that we can’t have two warring factions killing off civilians and terrorizing the countryside.  If you go to war, we’ll have to stop you in any way possible.”

This wasn’t going quite as well as he’d hoped.  “As I said, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure we avoid war or that we avoid civilian casualties if it comes to it.  I hope that if you reach the point where you feel the need to take action, you’ll call me first so we can try to find some alternative.”  The last thing he needed was for the majority of his army to die needlessly.

“I’ll do what I can,” the General said.  “But if it comes down to civilian lives, I’ll choose them over you.”

“Understood.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up.

At least Lachlan knew where he stood.  If it came to out and out battle, his army would have to hit Sebastian’s hard and beat them decisively before the General got involved–or she might well wipe all the wolves off the island.

Lachlan headed for the dining hall to rescue his mate from his family.

#

Greer still couldn’t believe she’d been caught.  At least her sister and mother had gotten away.  And she had some small consolation in that it took six of Sebastian’s wolves to take her down and four of them to sit on her.  Still, she should have been able to beat them.

Her cousin had her locked in a room somewhere.  They’d blindfolded her when they brought her here and the room had no windows, so she wasn’t sure where they had her.  She hadn’t yet seen Sebastian–at least, as far as she knew.  Through all the years, she’d managed to avoid ever meeting him.  She’d seen a picture or two but couldn’t be sure she’d recognize him if he showed up.  He could be one of her guards and she’d never know.

Her family thought she was nuts for refusing to meet Sebastian but she knew the truth.  If she met him, she might just tear his throat out and that’d be bad for relations.

Sebastian had her position.  She should be the English Alpha.  She was a stronger wolf than everyone except for Lachlan.  And if it weren’t for the stupid archaic traditions about Alphas only being male, she would be Alpha.

But none of that mattered now.  She had to escape or it would be bad for Lachlan.  Her brother would make bad decisions if he feared for her life.  She couldn’t let him lose the war because of her.  She needed to figure out where she was, how many guards held her and how to escape.

#

Keira had never been more glad to see Lachlan than when he showed up in the dining hall, but no sooner had he waved at them than he moved in the other direction to get some food.  How much longer would she have to wait?

“So where are you from, Keira?”  Lorna had thrown one question after another at her since they’d sat down.  At one point, Iain had suggested she let up on Keira but Lorna had shut him down.

“I grew up in Boston, but after college I was posted to our detachment in England.”  Questions like these weren’t the tough ones.  The tough ones involved her feelings...how did she like Scotland, how did she like Lachlan, how did she feel about the war.  Worse...how did she feel about marriage, how did she feel about kids...the questions were endless.

“Oh?  Where in England?”

Lorna seemed very nice in spite of all of the questions.  Nice, and determined to protect her son.  Nevertheless, she was about to find out there was a line.  “I’m so sorry.  I can’t reveal that.”

Lorna’s lips parted.  “What?”

“The location of our installation is secret.  I can’t tell you.”

Finally, Lachlan sat down next to her, saving her from further questions.  She hoped.

“What did Sebastian say?” Iain said.

Lachlan described the call with Sebastian and then told them about his talk with the General.  At least that explained why he’d taken so long.  When he finished, he said, “Did you reach Brodie?”

“Yes,” Iain said.  “He’d heard rumblings that someone important had been detained–his words–but didn’t know they had Greer.  He said he’d find out what he could and help her if he could do it without giving himself away.”

Lachlan took a sip of his tea.  “Good.  We’ll need him there a while longer.  I don’t think she’s in danger.”

Lorna put her silverware down.  “Are you sure?”

Cutting his sausage, Lachlan said, “I’m sure.  I told Sebastian what we’d do if he hurt her.  If he has any sense, he’ll keep her safe and sound.”

Moira leaned forward on her elbows.  “Sebastian’s a bastard but he’s not stupid.”

“Moira!” her aunt said.

“Really?” Moira said.  “You’re mad I called him a bastard?”

Lorna shook her head.  “Ladies don’t--”

“Do you see any ladies here?  Because I don’t.”  She put out her hand in Keira’s direction.  “No offense.”

“None taken.  I was trained to be a killer, not a lady.”

Moira stifled a laugh.

But Keira had something else on her mind.  “How serious did the General sound about bombing your troops?  Was there any wiggle room?”

Lachlan twisted to face her and ended up slipping one arm behind her back, just lightly touching her.  “Do you have something in mind?”

“What if you chose your battleground, someplace in the countryside away from civilians?  If she felt confident no one would accidentally get hurt, she might stay out of it.”

“What if one battle isn’t enough?” Lachlan said.

“It’ll have to be,” Keira said.  “Hit them so hard you knock them to their knees in one go.”

“It’s too bad we can’t offer a duel,” Iain said.  “Sebastian seems to have forgotten that he can challenge you directly.  He doesn’t have to drag all the rest of the wolves into it.”

“Sebastian knows Lachlan would rip his throat out,” Moira said.

Lachlan rubbed his hand against Keira’s back.  “While I appreciate the vote of confidence, I don’t want to rip my cousin’s throat out.  Unfortunately, if I don’t, he’ll have to kill me to hold onto the UK position.”

For a moment, everyone at the table fell silent.

Moira leaned forward again.  “You might not want to kill him, but you could.  Sebastian’s not strong enough to challenge you, so he’s dragging his wolves into it, hoping his army can crush yours.”

“Is there any politics to this thing?” Keira said.  “I mean, what if you publicly challenge him and suggest he’ll be a coward if he brings an army with him?”

“Good idea, except you can’t challenge down.”  Lachlan fingers continued to move against her back in a maddingly sensual way.

Keira must have had a blank look on her face because Lorna said in a lower voice, “He means since he’s higher in the hierarchy, he can’t challenge someone lower than he is.  You can only challenge someone higher.”

“Oh.  But what about the press conference?  What if you don’t actually challenge him, just make it sound like a challenge would be the appropriate thing to do and you’re baffled–baffled–at why Sebastian thinks he needs an army,” Keira said.

Lachlan smirked.  “What did I say about Americans and press conferences?”  His hand slipped lower on her back.

“About the rampant press in the US?” Iain said.

“Or about the Americans’ penchant for turning everything into a drama?” Moira said.

Lachlan moved his hand up Keira’s back to hook around her neck.  “I said those Americans are good at that stuff.  Manipulating the public and all that.”

“Yeah, cause saying it that way sounds so much better,” Moira said.

Lachlan leaned back in his chair, pulling Keira closer.  “It is such fun courting my recalcitrant mate with my siblings helping me.”

“What are siblings for?” Moira said.

Indeed.  And on that note...  “We should try to call Damon and Gillian again.”  Keira pulled out her cell phone, straightening in her seat so Lachlan’s arm rolled off her shoulder.

He straightened too.  “Of course.”

While she rang her sister, he pulled out his own phone.  He had just put it to his ear when Gillian picked up.  For a split second, Keira couldn’t believe she’d heard her sister’s voice.

“Gillie?”

“It’s me, Kiki.”

Lachlan’s hand dropped as all of his family turned to watch Keira.  “Kiki?” Lachlan said.

Chapter 8

Shit.  They could all hear every word.  Damned werewolf hearing.  Keira jumped to her feet and strode toward the door.  Maybe she could have some privacy in the hallway.  “Where the hell are you?  I’ve been calling--”

“I’m all right.  Don’t worry.  But what about you?  Why didn’t you follow me out of the castle?”

“The damned werewolf caught me and wouldn’t let me go.  Did the dragon take you away with him?  We found tracks but they ended abruptly.”  Keira reached the hallway and stood near the far wall but still visible from the door.  Sure enough, Lachlan came into view then stopped when he saw her.

“Yeah, he carried me off, but it’s all fine.  Don’t worry.  I’ve got it under control.  But what about you?  What did the werewolf want with you?  Are you still with him?”

She felt suddenly reluctant to tell Gill about Lachlan thinking they were mates.  What would Gill think about Lachlan trying to split them up?  It might be better to keep it quiet until she figured out what she wanted to do about all of it.

As soon as she thought that, a frisson of fear rolled through her.  Didn’t she already know what she wanted to do?  There was no way she could stay with Lachlan–right?

She needed to stop these thoughts in their tracks.  “Where are you?  I’ll come to you.”  Lachlan would pitch a fit, but she didn’t care.

“No, it’s okay.  I’ve got the situation here under control.  Are you still with the werewolf?”

“Yes.”  Keira scrambled for a good reason.  Why was this so hard?  Talking to her sister was never hard.  And why wouldn’t Gillian tell her what had happened with her and the dragon?  “The Alpha knew how to reach Knightley, so I thought I’d better stick close.  Plus, they’re fixing for a war.”  She didn’t know why she’d thrown that in.  It’s not like the wolves’ war mattered to the guild.

“And you’re helping them with it?  Good for you.  Why don’t you stay there a few more days and we can catch up then.”

“Gillian, what’s going on?  This isn’t like you.”

“I’ll tell you everything in a few days.  For now, don’t worry about me.  I’m fine.  Okay?”

Not okay.  But Gill still hadn’t told her where she was, so there was little she could do about it.  “You’re sure I can’t come to you?”

In the distance, Lachlan continued to stand, staring at her.  There was no way he could hear her from that far away.  Right?

“Stay where you are.  It’s all good.  But I’ve got to go now.  I’ll call you in a few days.  Love you.”

“Love you,” Keira said just before her sister hung up.

#

Lachlan could only make out bits and pieces of Keira’s conversation.  If it hadn’t been for the ambient noise in the dining hall, he could have heard more.  But he felt sure if he tried to get closer she’d move further away, so he stayed where he was and tried to piece together what she was saying combined with her body language.

It didn’t seem to be going well.  Whatever her sister was saying, Keira didn’t like it.  When she hung up, she shoved her phone in her pocket then stared into space.

That was it.

Lachlan went to her side.  He didn’t touch her, just stood next to her and waited.

“You should be happy.  She said to hang tight for a while, so I’m all yours.”  Her eyes met his.  “For now.”

Stamping down the joy that bubbled up, he said, “I take it she’s okay?”

“She says she is.”

“But?”

“She doesn’t sound like herself.  She wouldn’t say why he took her.  And she’s never–never–wanted us to be apart before.”  Keira headed back into the dining hall.

Lachlan followed.  “Where are you going?”

“I didn’t finish my breakfast.  Have to keep my strength up if we’re going to win this war.”

And again, she’d said ‘we.’  It sounded even sweeter knowing she’d be sticking around for a little while.  He just hoped he could convince her to make it permanent before she got it into her mind to go.

#

After breakfast, Aunt Lorna went to her room to settle in while Lachlan, Keira and Iain met with Colin and Mattie to review their progress.  More than half of the troops who’d been called up had arrived, with more streaming in every hour.  And Mattie had arranged a time and place for a press conference and had called all of the major news organizations in Inverness.

Early that afternoon, a small contingent drove the hour to the city.  Iain stayed behind to manage the continuing influx of soldiers.  All along the way, Mattie and Keira coached Lachlan about what to say and how to answer questions.  Their instructions were helpful but in the end he just wanted to get the whole thing over with.

The press waited for them at one of the small parks where a little bandstand would allow Lachlan to stand above them.  Mattie left the microphone setup to one of their more technical wolves and sent her mate Colin to manage the reporters.  Smart move–of the two, Colin was more gregarious while Mattie more detail-oriented.

With all the prep, Lachlan felt sure he was ready but his stomach still flipped over when he stepped up in front of the reporters.  He hadn’t expected quite so many.

Colin spoke first.  “Quiet down, please.  We’re about ready.”  He glanced at Lachlan, who nodded at him.  “I’d like to introduce Lachlan MacPherson, Alpha of the United Kingdom.”  The title they’d use had been debated exhaustively, as had the fact that someone else had to say it, not Lachlan himself.

Lachlan stepped up to the mic.  “In recent weeks, the English Alpha has pulled together an army, against my command.  I’ve had to call up troops in response.  I want to reassure the public that I will do everything in my power to avoid a war between our two powerful factions, but I cannot stand for my underlings to disobey my direct commands.”

Lachlan paused for dramatic effect, as Keira had told him he should.  “I am aggrieved we’ve come to this point.  Werewolf packs have a simple way to resolve such disputes.  Wolves like the English Alpha who want to rise higher and dislike the rule of the wolves above them can issue a direct challenge.  I don’t know why, but the English Alpha feels he has to bring us to the edge of war rather than challenging me outright.  And war, as you know, could have consequences far beyond our wolf pack.  I’ll take any questions now.”

The reporters raised their hands but didn’t wait to be called on, instead peppering him with questions.  His hearing allowed him to differentiate what they were saying, so after a few seconds he chose a question he’d be okay answering and pointed at a tiny ginger-haired woman in the front.  “Your question?”

The others quieted down.  “What is the nature of the dispute?” she said.

Lachlan had been warned not to spend too long talking about genealogies.  “The inheritance of the Alpha position in the UK is much like that of the monarchy.  For centuries, the English Alpha was also the UK Alpha.  But now the position has passed to me, the Scottish Alpha.  The English wolves believe I should hand over the UK Alpha position to them, even though I inherited it according to our traditions.  And I refuse.”

As soon as he finished speaking, voices rose with a spate of new questions.  He answered them as best he could, but never got his own question answered–would this press conference change anything?  Could it change anything?

Later as they traveled back to the Stronghold, Lachlan sat next to Keira in the seat in the very back of the SUV.  They weren’t exactly alone but it was better than nothing.  And the other wolves were talking and listening to headsets and watching little televisions, paying no attention to the two of them in the back.  He rested his hand on her thigh and wished he knew whether she’d let him hold her hand.

“It went well,” she said.

She hadn’t moved his hand off her leg.  That was something.  “You’re the expert.”

“Not hardly.  Now we get to see if it makes any difference.”  She rested her hand on her leg, not far from his hand.

The hell with it.  He covered her hand with his.  “Thank you for your help today.”

She didn’t answer, just gazed at his hand.  Slowly, her eyes met his.  She looked like she had something to say, but she’d finally realized that even a whisper would be heard by every wolf in the vehicle.  She swallowed.

Then she turned her hand over and laced her fingers through his.

Lachlan sucked in his breath.  It wasn’t the feel of her skin that got him but the significance of having his mate accept his touch.

He’d bedded plenty of women in the past but their acceptance of him in their bed had had no meaning, not like this.  They’d been easy conquests compared to the way his mate made him fight for every inch.  And it made every inch that much sweeter.

As they continued to look into each other’s eyes, their breathing changed until they breathed in time, every part of them wanting to meld together.

“Lachlan?” Mattie said.

He didn’t take his eyes off of Keira.  “Yes?”

“I’ve got the first newscast.  Want to see?”

“Is it bad?”

“No, it’s good.  Really good.”

“Then save it for later.  You can show me a bunch of them at once tonight.”  He squeezed Keira’s hand.

“Will do,” Mattie said.

Lachlan’s cell phone rang.  Could he not catch a break?  He had to let go of Keira’s hand to pull it out of his pocket.  Iain.

Lachlan answered it.  “Yes?”

Iain’s voice sounded tight.  “Sebastian saw the newscast and he rang you up.  He’s spitting mad.  Wants you to call him back.”

“Good.  I hope he’s angry because he’s embarrassed.  I’ll let him stew a bit.  We’ll be home soon.  We’ll discuss this more over dinner.”

He and Iain said goodbye and hung up.  After Lachlan had shoved his phone back in his pocket, he looked to take Keira’s hand again, but she’d slumped in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, head tipped back.

She couldn’t possibly be asleep so quickly.  “Napping?” he said.

“Thinking.”

When she said no more, he dropped his hand onto her thigh and watched the landscape roll past outside the window.

#

Keira’s mind spun.  Sick to death of trying to figure out what was happening between Lachlan and her, she instead puzzled over her sister.  What could make Gillian tell her not to come?

Maybe she’d said that under duress.  The dragon could be forcing her.  Yet she’d used Keira’s nickname and that was a cue they used to mean “all clear.”

But if Gill weren’t under duress, then what?  If it were anyone else, she’d wonder about a secret deal going on between Gill and the dragon, but this was Gill.  There was no one in the world Keira trusted more than her sister.

Keira thumped her head back against the seat and Lachlan immediately squeezed her thigh.  She stamped down hard on the arousal that spiked through her and hoped he couldn’t smell the chemical changes in her body every single time he touched her.  Was it too much to ask for a man with a normal sense of smell?

Not that she wanted a man in the first place, but if she were going to craft one, she couldn’t have put together anyone better.  He was easy on the eyes, had a ready smile and yet was fierce as all get out.  And strong…stronger than her.  That shouldn’t be a turn on, but it was.

And damn it, there she was thinking about him again, just when she’d been determined not to.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” he said softly.

She rolled her head on the seat so her eyes met his.  “Nothing I want prying ears to hear.”

His thumb rubbed her thigh.  “As long as it’s not my ears you’re talking about.”

Oddly enough, it wasn’t.  When had that happened?  Only a couple of days ago, she could only talk to her sister, would never even trust Harris with anything but the facts.  And now she didn’t just feel comfortable with Lachlan, but actually wanted to tell him about her thoughts.  Well, some of them.  Still best he didn’t know the things she thought about him.  “No.  I don’t mean you.”

He squeezed her leg again causing a rush of desire to flow through her.

“You shouldn’t keep doing that.”  She spoke so softly she almost couldn’t hear herself.  “This SUV has a lot of prying noses too.”

His brow crinkled.  She knew the moment he got it because he broke out in a grin and got a wicked twinkle in his eyes.  “We should have dinner in our room tonight.”

“We’re talking about the war over dinner.”  She turned his hand over and placed hers in it–to keep him from squeezing her leg again.  And that was the only reason.

“We can meet about the war and then get dinner.”  He threaded his fingers through hers.

“The meeting could take a while.”

“We’ll make sure it doesn’t.”  He lifted their joined hands and placed a kiss on the back of hers.  “I can talk verra fast if I have to.”

“I hope you’re not getting the wrong idea,” she said softly.  “I’m not promising anything.”

“Nay, but I’m chipping away at your defenses.  And tonight I’ll chip a little more off.  It’s up to you how far I get.”  The twinkle came back.  “I’ll make it worth your while to give in to me.”

“I don’t doubt it.”  Her words came out as barely more than a grumble, but he nevertheless laughed.

He put his mouth against her ear, causing yet another wave of lust to wash through her.  “I’ll win you yet, Keira Harlow.  Just wait.”

#

So far, Greer hadn’t seen a single person since they’d locked her in.  The room had a bathroom but no food and she was getting hungry.  Which was good—once they brought her food, she’d be able to glean some more information.

Assuming they did bring her some food.

She’d searched every nook and cranny of the room just in case there was a secret entrance the guards didn’t know about.  Unlikely, but she didn’t have anything better to do.

Then finally, the door opened.  The sound of laughter preceded a wolf bearing a tray of food.  He closed the door behind him.

Immediately, his demeanor changed, the smile falling from his face and his eyes narrowing.  He put the tray on the table, saying loudly, “Hope you like it, cause this is all you’re getting.”  Then he hurried over to her and pulled her to the far wall.  “Lachlan sent me,” he said in a soft whisper.

Thank the Gods for her brother.

“I can’t help much or it’ll blow my cover but here’s what you need to know.  Starting in half an hour, there will be only one guard at your door.  They drugged your food and think they don’t need to have more than one guard while you’re out cold.”

She got it--don’t eat.  Her stomach rumbled.

“You’re on the second floor of a brownstone in London.  Once you take out the guard at the door, there will be one more guard downstairs—maybe watching telly, maybe asleep.  From there you’re home free.”

“Will this door be locked?” she said.

“I’ll leave it unlocked when I go.”

She wanted to ask more questions but she knew the danger he was in.  “Thank you.  Go.”

Chapter 9

Lachlan’s man nodded and hurried across the room to the door.  His eyes met Greer’s and he mouthed ‘sorry.’  She found out why a second later.  As the door closed, he said, “Can you believe it?  Damned woman tried to seduce me.  Probably thought I’d let her go free.”

Sorry indeed.

Half an hour.  She’d hide the food and make the plate look like she’d eaten.  And maybe she should lie down, too.  They might look in before they let the other guards go and she wanted them to think she was good and drugged.

Thirty-five minutes later—she kept checking her watch as each minute took at least half an hour—a guard stuck his head in the door.  She kept her breathing slow and steady while he looked her over then closed the door behind him again.

She waited another twenty minutes to make sure the guards had all left.  She should really wait longer but couldn’t make herself do it.  She had to get out of there.

They hadn’t left her much that she could use as a weapon—plastic utensils for her dinner, no heavy statues or convenient swords hanging on the walls.  But she’d had nearly an hour of lying on the bed to think.  In the end, she pulled the pillowcase off the pillow and wound it up tight then did the same with the sheet.  If she could get the pillowcase over the guard’s head from behind, she could tighten it around his neck and knock him out—preferably without a lot of noise.

Greer slowly cracked the door open just enough so she could see the guard standing a few feet away leaning against the wall.  He had his head down, his hands fiddling with something.  Probably a cell phone.  Stupid for him, fortuitous for her.

She pushed the door open just enough for her to slip through, waiting for it to squeak or groan and give her away.  When it didn’t, she crossed on her tiptoes to the guard.  At the last second, a board under her feet creaked.  The guard’s head jerked up and he turned.

Tossing the twisted pillowcase over his head, she kicked the back of his knee.  He dropped and she just barely caught the pillowcase under his neck as he did so.  His weight combined with her pulling on the ends caused sufficient pressure.

He struggled, trying to pull the pillowcase away from his throat.  A soft croak came out of his mouth but he didn’t manage to yell.  Agonizing seconds passed while she kept up the pressure, waiting, waiting.  Finally, he slumped, out cold.

Greer picked him up and carried him into her room and laid him on the bed.  She quickly used the pillowcase to gag him then grabbed her twisted-up sheet and wrapped it around him a few times before tying it off tightly in the back.  By the time she finished he was already coming around.  She punched him hard to knock him out then pulled the blanket up over his body and tucked it in tightly on all sides, binding him in place.

It wasn’t much and might not hold him very long but it was the best she could do.  Hopefully she could get to the other guy before this one started making a racket.

She crept out of the room and quickly found the stairs.  All in all, the place wasn’t very big.  Each step she took, she worried about the creaking of old wood.  The guy downstairs wouldn’t worry if he heard those kinds of noises from upstairs but if he heard them on the stairs or in the entryway, he’d investigate.

She’d made it halfway down the stairs when the inevitable happened.  A stair creaked under her weight.

“Miller?” a voice called from the front room.

She could run back upstairs but she’d be trapped.  Better to reach the entryway before he did and get the upper hand.  She hurried down the rest of the stairs.  Just as she reached the entryway, she heard voices at the outside door.

Fuck.  She could take on one guard, but she heard at least three more voices outside.  Four wolves in close quarters against just her?  She’d beaten four wolves at once before but with no room to maneuver it would be difficult.  And she couldn’t be sure there were only three wolves behind that door.

She ran in the opposite direction down the hall and darted into the first doorway she came to.  And not a moment too soon–the front door opened at the same time that the voice from the front room said, “Sebastian, it’s you.  I thought I heard something.”

Her long-lost cousin at last.  Well, if she had anything to say about it, she wouldn’t meet him this time any more than she had in the past.

“I’ve come to see the prisoner.”  The deep voice rolled over her like honey and sex, deep and enthralling.

What the hell?

“She’s upstairs,” the front room voice said.  Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

She had to get out of here now.  As soon as it sounded like they’d reached the upstairs landing, she peeked into the hall.  Not a soul in sight.  She hurried down the hall as quietly as she could and walked right into hell.

The smell.  Holy Gods.  Her mate.  Arousal rushed through her from her fingertips to the ends of her hair making her want...no, need...to go straight up the stairs and find him.

Gods damn it, she didn’t need this.  Not now.  And not with a bloody English wolf.  She could almost hear the fates laughing at her.

“Where the bloody hell is she?”  That voice that made her shiver with desire bellowed through the house.  “Fine.  They want a war, I’ll give them a war.”

Sebastian?  Who else would say that–but how could Sebastian be her mate?  Mates were never close family.

It didn’t matter.  She might want to run to him but she couldn’t.  She had to get the hell out of here.  She could figure the rest out later.

Footsteps sounded on the landing as she slipped out the door onto a typical London street.  The house she’d been in was just one of a row of houses that extended down the road.  She took a right and ran down the sidewalk as fast as she could.

#

Lachlan wasn’t going to get his intimate dinner.  Keira watched him pacing at the front of the room as the wolves debated what to do next.  Lachlan had said he could talk fast but he wasn’t talking fast enough.  The servants were already bringing dinner into their meeting room.

Lachlan’s eyes met hers across the room, his brow crinkled.  She smiled.  In the SUV, the thought of dinner alone with him had been exciting.  Now she knew it would be a mistake.  The more time she spent with him, the more he drew her in.  She needed to stop this madness in its tracks.

Just then, Iain’s cell rang.  He glanced at the screen.  “Brodie.”

“Put it on speaker,” Lachlan said.

Iain touched his screen then placed the phone in the center of the table.  “Brodie.  You’re on speaker.”

“I’ve news.”  Brodie’s voice had the clipped speech of a British accent–no doubt necessary for his undercover persona.  “I reached Greer and gave her what help I could.  While I was doing that, your news conference came on and Sebastian saw it.  He went immediately to see Greer but she’d already escaped.  Now he’s running about like a madman, telling us all to get ready.  We’re to drive north tomorrow morning and attack you directly.”

Brodie continued.  “He’s also acting odd.  I don’t know what it’s about but something’s changed.  And not just the mad rush to go to war, either.  I can’t put my finger on it.”

“We can’t let him get all the way to the Stronghold,” Iain said.

“No.”  Lachlan strode to the table.  “We need to find an uninhabited area and meet him there before he can get any further.  Show me a map.”

Colin pulled a map of the British Isles out of a pile of maps on a side table and spread it on the table in the center of the room.  At least four feet wide and six feet long, it took up much of the table top.

Everyone–Lachlan, Iain, Keira, Colin and a few other wolves–leaned forward to look at the map.  Lachlan pointed to a wide green area in the north of England.  “What’s that there?”

“Northumberland National Park,” Keira read.

“A park would be uninhabited,” Lachlan said.  “And we could let the public know to steer clear.”

“Can we get there before Sebastian does?” Keira said.

“I can find out.”  Colin fiddled with his phone while the others continued to look at the map.  “It’s a six and a half hour drive from London and a four hour drive from here.  We might be able to beat him but we’d need to move quickly.”

“I don’t see any better options,” Lachlan said.  “If he comes further north, we’ll be fighting in the midst of all of these towns or worse, in Edinburgh.”  He tapped the map.  “This is the place.  Give me the current status of our forces.”

During the next hour, they munched on the cold dinner brought in by the servants while they figured out how to get all of their troops mobilized and in place by mid-day the next day.  The troops had been amassing for some time and Iain had made sure they had enough transport vehicles, so they weren’t in as bad a shape as they could have been.  Still, moving thousands of troops at short notice was no small feat.

Keira knew she should leave.  At the very least, she needed to call Harris to let him know Gill had gotten in touch with her.  But she knew what Harris would say–no need to stay with the wolves; go find Gill and get back to base.  And she couldn’t quite bring herself to leave Lachlan when he was about to go to war.  She’d leave him afterward.  First, they needed to win.

#

Keira’s scent was driving Lachlan crazy.  Every time he passed her, every time the air in the room wafted in his direction, he smelled her...and wanted.

He’d been naive to think he could keep this meeting short and retire to his bedroom with Keira.  He’d been naive not to realize the effect the press conference would have on Sebastian.  But in his defense, this was the first time he’d fought a war.

They’d laid out all of their plans and figured out how all of the wolves could move down to Northumberland National Park.  Iain would get the troops moving.  They’d pack now and leave in groups so as to form a convoy rather than one large clump of trucks that created their own traffic jam.  They’d avoid cities but otherwise try to stay on decent roads.  The first of the wolves should reach the park before dawn.

In the meantime, Lachlan needed to call the General to let her know what was happening.  Colin was going to have Mattie call the press to tell them to keep people away from the park.  And Colin would call the park office himself to try to warn away any staff.

And once they all got off the phone, they’d join Iain.  More than just troops, they needed to move supplies–food, weapons, ammunition.  And Lachlan would leave with one of the early groups, to lead the troops once they reached Northumberland.

Keira stood near the wall.  She’d offered to help and he’d said she could help him.  At least he would keep her near, even if it wouldn’t be quite the evening he’d hoped.

“Anything else?” Lachlan said.

The wolves around the table shook their heads.

“All right, then.  Get to it.”  As his wolves filed out of the room, Lachlan crossed to stand near Keira.  He waited until the room was empty then pushed the door shut with his foot.  “Alone at last.”

“There’s no time,” she said.

Lachlan slid his arms around her waist, pushing her against the wall.  “Time enough for one kiss.”  Before she could answer, he pressed his lips against hers.  She was a mite shorter than he was, so he lifted her and pressed her hard against the wall.

Heaven.  Her mouth slanted under his, lips opening to allow him access.  He took it, brushing his tongue against hers.

Keira moaned deep in her throat.

Pressing harder against her, he felt his cock against her stomach.  Her legs came around his waist to pull him even tighter.  He threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair to hold her head in place while he plundered her mouth.

His brain knew she hadn’t agreed to the mating yet but his body didn’t care.  He wanted to mark her.  His teeth slid down becoming sharp fangs.

Keira pulled back.  “What the hell?”

He clenched his jaw, trying not to demand that she submit to him.

She touched one fang with her fingertip.  “Why did these come out?”

“To mark you.”  His words sounded a little garbled around the enlarged teeth.

“You mentioned that before.  But what’s it really mean?”

She didn’t know?  How could anyone not know?  Lachlan took a deep breath and forced the change back so his teeth would return to being fully human.  “It’s part of mating.  I’ll bite you, preferably in a spot where every male who looks at you will know you’re mine.”

“So it’s a caveman thing.”

“No, it’s a werewolf thing.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“What do you want?  We’re part animal.”

“Just part?”

He leaned into her.  “Ha ha.”  His lips grazed her throat just before he placed a kiss on her shoulder.  “Where were we?”

“We need to go help with the deployment.”

Lachlan rested his forehead against her neck.  She was right.  And if the mating urge weren’t clouding his thinking he’d be out there already.  After one last kiss on her shoulder, he pulled back.  Time to get to work.

A couple of hours later, Lachlan and Keira were just about to leave when Lachlan got a call from a number he didn’t recognize.  He didn’t have much time but it could be from the General or someone else calling about the war.  He picked up.

“Lachlan?”

“Greer.  Are you all right?”  It felt so good to hear her voice.

“I’m fine.  Thanks for sending your man.  I got free but now I’m stuck.  My purse was in the car and Aunt Lorna and Moira took off with it.  So I don’t have any money or any way to get to Scotland and I can’t trust anyone around here.”

“If we wire you some money can you get to it?”  He wanted her out of there as soon as possible.

“Yes.  I’ve got all the details of where to send it.”

“Good.  Once you’ve got the money, I want you to fly.  You can’t drive or take a train.  You’d be going straight through a war zone.”

“I can’t fly without ID.”

“Shit.  Well, you can’t get a car without ID either.”

“I’ll figure something out.  But tell me about this war zone.”

Lachlan filled her in then took down the information about the wire transfer.  “We’ll get it to you as soon as possible.  Whatever you do, stay safe.”

“Will do.”  They hung up.  He quickly called Iain to get the wire transfer going.

“Ready?” Lachlan said to Keira.

“Yep.”  She swung herself into the cab of the supply truck they’d be driving.

He had arranged it that way so they’d at least have some privacy while they drove to the battlefield.  If they couldn’t make love, at least they could talk.

Lachlan climbed into the driver’s seat and started up the truck.  Damned thing made a huge racket.  It got slightly better when he slammed the door shut.  “It won’t be quite as easy to talk as I’d hoped.”

“We’ll make do.”

He snagged her around the waist and pulled her hard against his side.  “How about you just whisper in my ear?”

“Whispering won’t work so well.”

“True.  You could lick my ear instead.”

She smacked his thigh.  “I shouldn’t do anything that might cause you to drive off the road.”

“There is that.”

Trucks started to move, driving through the Stronghold’s gates one at a time.  When it was their turn, Lachlan maneuvered the truck into position and joined the line.  “We’ve got four hours.  Let’s talk.”

“You want to have a heart to heart while we’re on the way to war?”

“Is there a better time?”

She settled against him.  “Fine.  What would you like to talk about?”

“What would it take for you to stay with me and give this thing a chance?  I know you’ve still got one foot out the door.  I also know you’re attracted to me.  So lay it on the table.  What’s stopping you?”  He pulled his arm from around her so he could turn the wheel as the road curved and went over a rise.

Chapter 10

Keira laid her hand on Lachlan’s thigh.  “I don’t see a future for us.  Feeling attracted to each other isn’t enough.  I have a calling that has me wandering around the world while you have a position that keeps you stuck in one spot.  Even if we were willing to try something, the logistics don’t work out.”

“Logistics?  You’re rejecting me over logistics?  If the problem is something like that, we can figure it out.  Just agree to give us a chance.”

“It’s more than that.”  It was more than that.  Or it had been.  It was about not wanting to lose the partnership she had with her sister...but that was before Gill shut her out.  Oh, and–  “It’s about me not being what you want in a mate.  I can’t be some sort of fancy-schmancy lady of the castle.  I’m a warrior and a scholar and that’s it.”

“Who says I want a lady?  Fate gives us our perfect mates.  Fate gave me you.  I want you just as you are.”

She didn’t want to admit how that touched her.  “Nice sentiment but what happens when there’s some state function or something and I don’t have the first clue how to act?”

Lachlan slid his hand along her leg until it rested against the inside of her thigh near her knee.  “Two things.  One, if you really hate those functions then I’ll only ask you to go to the most important ones.  Two, if you feel out of place, Aunt Lorna and Moira can give you pointers.  They’re good at that stuff.  But either way, I’m fine with it.  I don’t need a wife who’s a political animal.  I need a wife who’s strong enough to lead by my side.  And you are.”

Again, he hit just the right chord.  “What about the wandering?  As Alpha you can’t exactly leave for months on end.”

He squeezed her thigh.  “I can’t be apart from you for months on end.  So either I need to go with you or you need to take shorter jobs or something.  Maybe a combination.  I do travel sometimes on business, so it’s not like I can never leave the Stronghold.”

“Why can’t we be apart?”

“It’s a mate thing.  We can be apart for a while but beyond that, my wolf would start to mourn you.  That or stalk you.  Either way it wouldn’t be good.  Mates aren’t meant to be apart.”

And he didn’t see the problem there?  “My sister is my partner.  When I’m out on a job, I’m with her.”  And yet where was she?

Lachlan squeezed her thigh again.  “I think your excuses are really thin.  Either you want to give this a try or you don’t.  If you want to try, we can solve all of the problems you’re raising.  And if you don’t then none of the rest of it matters.”

“You’d be better off with someone else.”

“That isn’t true.  But even if it were true, it doesn’t matter.  I’ve found my mate.  There can’t be anyone else for me.”

“Never?  You mean if I decide I don’t want to give this a shot, that’s it?  You’re a eunuch for life?”

“Something like that.”  His tone sounded flat.

“What does that mean?”

He was quiet while he followed the car in front of him, his big thumb rubbing her knee.  “Wolves without their mates go mad.”

His aunt had said the same thing.  “Mad.”

“Most end up killing themselves.”

Shock and pain ricocheted through her, her eyes filling with tears.  Lachlan, dead?  She couldn’t let that happen.  “You’re strong.  The strongest.  That wouldn’t happen to you.”

“Strength doesn’t matter.  My friend Darius–  Well, he nearly went mad not too long ago.  It would happen to me too.  Or, like I told you, I might end up stalking you until you either give in or kill me to get away from me.”

She stiffened.  “I’d never kill you.”

“There’s an easy solution.  Give me a chance.”

It did seem easy, until she thought about her life and Gill and everything she’d worked for so long.  “When I was a little girl, I was marked for the teams.  A lot of dragon slayers work in supporting roles but those of us with the real killer’s instinct go out in pairs to hunt down the dragons and kill them.  So when they realized Gill and I had that killer’s instinct, they put us into training.”

“How old were you?”  Outside, the countryside slipped by, miles and miles of hills and grass with mountains in the distance and the occasional loch in a valley.

“Five.  We trained for ten years before they started sending us on missions with an older pair who continued our training in the field.”

“At fifteen?”  His voice rose.

“Fifteen is old enough.  We knew what we needed to.  Besides, young bodies have better reflexes and more stamina.  What I’m saying is that being a dragon slayer has been my whole life.  I haven’t known anything else.  And Gill has been by my side the entire time.”  And still she didn’t mention her real reason for pursuing Damon Knightley, but maybe she should.

“How old are you now?”

“Thirty-two.”

“And when do you think you’ll retire?”

She laughed.

“You’re the one who said all that about young bodies.  Thirty-two is pretty old compared to fifteen.  Maybe it’s time to hang up your hat.”  He squeezed her knee.

“I’ve never thought about it.  I’m none the worse for wear.  Plus, we still have work to do.”  Now, now was the time to tell him.  “I never told you why we were looking for Damon Knightley.”

“To kill him, of course.”

“No.  To warn him.”  And see how well that turned out?

“Warn him about what?”

Keira took a breath.  “I’m trusting you.  If you ever tell anyone what I’m about to tell you...if it ever gets back to the dragon slayers, they’ll kill me.  Gill, too.”

“I’d never do anything to endanger you.”

“Good.”  In spite of his words, her stomach still fluttered a little as she started to speak.  “When we first started slaying dragons, we believed what we were doing was right.  All dragons were bad and needed to be wiped out.  But over time, we started to doubt.  Some of them didn’t seem like bad people.  Some of them were parents.  The children hadn’t shifted yet so we didn’t have to kill them but looking at them and knowing someday we might have to end their lives...it didn’t sit well.”

“Do dragons not breed true?”

“No, some of the offspring are human, some shifters.”

“Not so for wolves.  We always breed true.  But go on.”

“We talked about it and we started to do some extra research on each of our targets.  Not just where they were and how best to kill them but who they were.  A lot of them were awful people and we had no problem killing them.  But then we had one who wasn’t.  We dug into his life, deeper and deeper, but we couldn’t find a single thing that would warrant a death sentence.”

Keira curled her hand, her nails scraping over his pants.  “We couldn’t do it.  So we tipped him off and gave him enough time to flee.  We told our superiors he’d seen us coming and escaped.  And that was the beginning.  We’ve done the same thing ever since.  And Knightley wasn’t bad enough to kill.  We were trying to tip him off.  It didn’t go so well.”

“I’m proud of you.  It takes courage to go against the established norms that way.  But one question--why’d you pull your weapons on him?”

“We didn’t do that until he shifted and came after us.  We’re not stupid.  We do need to defend ourselves.”

“Why do you think he took your sister?”

Good question.  “I don’t know.  She wouldn’t tell me.  And she didn’t sound quite like herself.  I mean, it was definitely her, but there was something different too.”

“Well, as long as she’s okay.”

“Yeah.”

They fell silent.  Where the hell had that whole monologue of hers come from?  She never talked that much with anyone except for Gill.  She never felt comfortable enough with anyone or trusted them enough to talk about more than exactly what she had to.  And now with Lachlan, everything was different.

It seemed like everything was changing far too quickly and she couldn’t figure out a way to get back to where she’d been.

#

As they neared Northumberland National Park, Lachlan called Sebastian on his cell.  His cousin didn’t pick up, so Lachlan called again and then again.  The third time, Sebastian answered.

“What?”

“Since you’re determined to fight, I’m laying some ground rules.  One, to avoid collateral damage, we will fight in Northumberland National Park.”

“We’ll bloody well fight at the Stronghold.”

“You won’t reach the Stronghold.  We’ll be waiting for you at Northumberland and if you attempt to go around us, the government has planes ready to shoot you off the road.  They’ll let us fight at Northumberland but only because I convinced the General.  Don’t be stupid.”

Sebastian made an inarticulate noise in his throat.

“Rule number two.  We’re fighting in our wolf skins.  It’s a long shot but I think our wolves have a better chance at living through this if they haven’t been peppered by AK-47s.  This fight is between you and me.  Let’s minimize the impact on our pack if we can.”

“I have non-wolf fighters.  Their only weapons are guns.”

“I have some too but let’s try to keep them out of it unless there’s no other choice.”  That left a lot open to interpretation but it was the best Lachlan could do.

“Fine.  We’ll start out as wolves.  Any other rules you want to lay down?”

“That’s all the rules.  But this is it, Bastian.  Last chance.  Challenge me directly.  We can have it out, just the two of us, and end this.  We don’t have to send out our packs to die.”  He wanted to hang up but on the off chance his cousin might take him up on the offer of a challenge, he stayed on the line.

And heard dead air.  Sebastian had hung up on him.

“It’s on,” Lachlan said.

“You didn’t really expect him to do the right thing?” Keira said.

“No.  But I’d hoped.”

“Yesterday morning you said you thought he’d kill you if he won.”

“He has to.  I can’t challenge down, but I can challenge up.  If he wins and takes my title but leaves me alive, I’ll challenge him and win it back.  I’m stronger than he is and he knows it.  If he wins and wants to remain UK Alpha, he’ll have to kill me.”

She squeezed his leg.  “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“We’re evenly matched.  He has as good a shot at winning this battle as I do.”

“You have something he doesn’t.”  She met his eyes and smiled.  “Me.”

An hour later, they had reached the spot in Northumberland where they’d chosen to fight.  With some of the soldiers, Keira and Lachlan had set up the tent they intended to use as their base at the top of a rise and verified with maps and GPS that they were in the right spot.

Then they stood and watched Sebastian’s trucks roll up on a hill across from them.  Between them, a small valley lay bright green in uncharacteristic sunlight.  And all Lachlan could think about was that it would soon turn red with blood.

#

As Keira stood beside Lachlan watching their enemy arrive, her phone rang.  It was Harris.  She’d avoided him long enough, so she picked up.

“Where’ve you been?” he said.

“Busy.  Gill got in touch with me.  She’s okay.”

“She got ‘in touch?’  Why aren’t you with her?  Where is she?  Why the hell aren’t you both on your way back to base?”

Jackass.  This is why she didn’t want to talk to him.  He always acted like he was giving the orders but he wasn’t their boss.  He was their liaison.  “And here I thought you were calling to tell me you’d tracked her phone.”

“I couldn’t.  She had it turned off.  Now why the hell aren’t you headed back?”

“We have business to attend to.  Just put us both down as being on leave.”

“You’re supposed to ask for leave before you take it, Harlow.”

“I know.  But stuff just came up.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

“It’s personal stuff.”

“So both of you are on unauthorized leave?”

“Looks like.”

He hung up.  Nice.

Lachlan put his hand on her back and she let him.  “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”  He heard all of it, didn’t he?  Damned werewolf hearing.  She needed to get better at remembering that.

“Was that someone from the dragon slayers?”

She should have taken the call privately.  Lachlan wasn’t supposed to know about Harris.  Or, hell, about any of it.  She’d already told him far more than he was supposed to know.  “My handler, if you will.  He’s an ass.”

Lachlan chuckled.  “Don’t hold anything back.”

“I won’t.”

He kissed her temple then ducked into the tent.  She stayed outside for a few more minutes watching the trucks roll in.  When had it become so easy to be tender with him?  The little touches and kisses weren’t familiar for her but felt good coming from him.

Across the valley, men and women stripped.  Some folded their clothes and put them neatly aside while others dropped them in rumpled little piles until they dotted the ridge.  One by one, the people shifted, their bodies arching and contorting before dropping to all fours and sprouting fur.

When she turned to enter the tent, she saw the exact same scene behind her–lots of naked men and women not even trying to hide themselves.  She pushed the tent flap out of the way and went inside.  There was only one man she wanted to see without his clothes on and it was getting harder and harder to come up with a reason not to get naked with him.

She stepped up next to Lachlan at the table in the center of the room.  A stack of maps lay on the surface.  When she’d joked about them being old school with the paper maps, he’d explained that they didn’t have a screen that could show a single one of those maps in as much detail all at once as what they could see on paper.  So yeah, old school.

But they weren’t without technology.  The large tent held several computers with uplinks to satellites showing the battlefield in startling detail.  They’d be able to track progress or lack thereof in real time.

Iain came into the tent.  “We’re all here.”

“And ready to go?” Lachlan said.

“We have enough shifted soldiers to start the battle.  The rest are getting into place.”  Iain stopped next to Keira.

Lachlan tapped the tabletop.  “All right then.  Heroic speech time.”  He headed out.

Chapter 11

Keira shot a glance at Iain as the two of them followed Lachlan.

“He meant ‘time to rally the troops,’” Iain said.

“Sure he did.”

“My brother has a sense of humor.  Haven’t you noticed?”

“I haven’t known him very long.”  Not long.  But she still felt like she knew him.

Lachlan stood in the middle of wolves as far as the eye could see.  They sat on their haunches and watched him.  “No need for long speeches,” he said so loudly he nearly shouted, “It’s very simple.  We are the strongest, we are the best, we will win.  For Scotland!”

“For Scotland!” yelled the soldiers still in human form.  The wolves howled, a sound so loud Keira fought to keep from covering her ears.  She knew they were werewolves and wouldn’t harm the mate of their Alpha but she still felt a thrill of fear go through her at the sound.

Then they moved.  Almost as one, the wolves headed for the edge of the rise and spilled over it into the valley.  An echoing howl rose from the other ridge followed by a flood of movement.  From afar, it looked less like a pack of wolves than like the earth itself rippling down the hillside.

The two masses of moving fur got closer and closer and finally met in the middle.  Keira pulled out binoculars to watch while around her, more and more wolves continued to race toward the fight.

She’d never seen anything like it.  Bereft of weapons and opposable thumbs, the wolves used their teeth and claws, snapping at each other’s necks, grappling and rolling while kicking at each other.  Blood spurted where their claws scraped deep enough to snag the skin.  Powerful jaws and teeth broke leg bones with a single snap and in some cases tore out throats.

Keira had been in plenty of fights and killed more than her share of dragons but she’d never been in a battle like this.

Behind her, she felt the heat of Lachlan’s body as he stepped almost close enough to her to touch.  “How’re we doing?”

“I can’t really tell.  I hate to say this but they all look the same to me.  Isn’t that a problem?  I mean, shouldn’t you all be wearing colored scarves or something so you know who to fight and who to leave alone?”  Seemed like an awful lot of room for “friendly fire.”

“No need.  We’ve got our noses.  Each pack has a particular scent.  And while we’re all a part of the UK pack, the Scottish and English factions smell different.”

Hunh.  “You can tell that even in the heat of battle?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, but what about from back here?  You can’t smell them, can you?”

“No.”  He took the binoculars from her and looked out over the battlefield.  “I can just...tell.  Maybe it’s a wolf thing.”

“Or an Alpha thing.  So how’s it going?”

“Just about evenly matched.  Neither side is making headway.”  He looked through the binoculars again then waved.  “Smile.  Sebastian’s watching us.”

“You’re waving at him?”

“I’m screwing with him.  You should see his face.”

Keira stepped closer to him, putting her hand lightly against his back.  “Show me.”

As he handed her the binoculars, Lachlan dropped his arm around her shoulders and tipped his head down so it almost touched hers.  With his other hand, he pointed.  “See the truck there and the table next to it?  There’s a man right next to the table who’s looking at us with binoculars.”

The man Lachlan had pointed out stood holding his binoculars with both hands, legs spread.  She couldn’t really see his face but his body looked like a typical wolf’s–hard and muscled.  The binoculars were trained in their direction at first then strayed as though he were looking for someone.  But who would he be looking for other than Lachlan?

“I’ll bet he wonders who I am,” Keira said.

“I’ll bet he knows.  We have spies in his camp; he no doubt has spies in ours.”  Lachlan squeezed her shoulder.  “Let’s go inside so we can get a look at the satellite view.”

#

Half an hour later, the battle continued to rage.  More wolves had arrived on both sides and the battlefield now stretched further than they could see with the naked eye.  Not because Lachlan’s wolfish vision wasn’t up to it, but because hills and trees blocked the view.

So it was down to the satellites.  Lachlan and the others in the tent watched several different screens which showed different sections of the battleground.

He hated thinking about all the wolves who were dying on both sides, so he pushed it out of his mind.  He didn’t start this.  He’d done everything he could to avoid it.  But now that they were in the thick of it, he had to finish it.

On the Eastern flank, Lachlan’s troops held off Sebastian’s with apparent ease.  In the center where the bulk of the fighting was going on, the battle was fairly evenly matched and neither side had made any good advances.

But on the Western flank, Sebastian’s forces were gaining ground.  Lachlan directed some of their relief troops to that flank but before they got there, Sebastian’s wolves broke through and surged around the edge of the fight.  But instead of pushing into the center to help their comrades or heading for Lachlan’s base camp, they surged forward creating a thin line hemming Lachlan’s troops in from the West.

“They’re trying to surround us,” Keira said.

“Can’t let that happen,” Lachlan said.  “Who can we send?”

Iain checked.  “We’re almost tapped out.”  He stood.  “I’ll take the few relief troops we’ve got left.”

Lachlan wanted to go himself but he knew as Alpha he needed to stay at the base, in charge.  “Go.”

After he left, just two lower ranked wolves remained with Lachlan and Keira.  He needed the two of them to operate the satellite feeds or he’d have sent them too.

The Scottish forces on the Eastern flank prevailed, so Lachlan sent half of them to the center to tip the balance and the rest to the Western flank to assist Iain.

“Alpha.”  Niall was operating one of the satellite feeds.  “There’s a group going around the Eastern edge of the fight and heading for us.”

Lachlan leaned over Niall’s shoulder.  “Show me.”

Sure enough, at least fifty wolves rounded the central battle and headed up the hill toward the tent.  Some of Lachlan’s wolves pursued them and held back at least five or six but the rest continued.  As he watched, more wolves followed the original fifty.

Keira pulled out her gun and her dirk.  “Just the four of us?”  She didn’t wait for an answer.  She stalked toward the door.

Lachlan clapped his hand on Niall’s shoulder.  “Get some troops up here.  Whoever’s closest.”  He pointed toward his other tech, Tavish.  “You’re with me.  No time to shift.”  They both grabbed weapons on their way out of the tent.

Keira stood at the top of the rise.  She aimed her hand gun at a wolf Lachlan couldn’t see and pulled the trigger, her arm jerking upward in recoil.  “One.”  She took aim again.

Lachlan stopped beside her and aimed his weapon at the wolves catapulting toward them.  “Stop, or I’ll open fire!”

A couple of them slowed but the rest sped toward them.  Bullets would likely kill them.  Lachlan had never had to kill like this before but it couldn’t be helped.  They didn’t just threaten him, which would be bad enough.  They threatened his mate.

He opened fire.  The front two wolves stumbled and fell.  Two more behind them jerked when hit but managed to get just a little farther before going down.  The next two did the same, closer and closer.

#

Keira shot another werewolf dead between the eyes and before she could blink, another leapt over his body and raced toward her.

“Fall back.”  Lachlan took one step backward.

She paced him.  No way was she running when he needed her, but he was right–they needed to move before they got overrun.

Keira paused long enough to aim at another werewolf and shoot.

A wolf leapt at Tavish who fired at him.  His rifle clicked over and over, not a single bullet left.  The wolf landed on Tavish’s chest and tore his throat out.

“Keira, run!”

“Like hell.”  She shot another wolf but they just kept coming and coming.

“Run, damn it!”

She fired her weapon.  He was nuts if he thought she’d leave him.  She couldn’t stand the thought of him dying.  It knotted her up inside until she wanted to puke.  Was it love or that mating thing?  She didn’t know.  All she knew was she wasn’t running anywhere.

Lachlan scooped her up with one arm and hauled ass to the mouth of the tent.  “Niall!  Now!”  Then he spun and opened upon the wolves heading toward them.

Niall came out of the tent with a mess of guns.  He handed Keira an AK-47 which would shoot faster than her hand gun and took up position beside Lachlan.  All three fired on the oncoming wolves and for a moment it stopped their progress.

“When’s backup coming?” Lachlan growled.

“A minute or two.”  Niall nearly panted, fear shortening his breath.  “Where’s Tavish?”

“Dead.”

More wolves topped the rise and raced toward them.  Where the hell were they all coming from?  Keira held the gun steady and fired, the steady recoil battering her body.

“You need to go,” Lachlan shouted over the gunfire.  “Run.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“This is my fight, not yours.  I won’t have you die over it.”

“No.”  She fired again, catching two wolves in a short burst.

“Keira, it will kill me if you die.  You understand?  I need you to leave.”  He shot down the last two wolves just as another batch flooded over the hill.

Her stomach clenched.  Did he even know what he was asking?  “What the hell do you think it’ll do to me if you die?” she yelled.  “No.  No way am I leaving and you can’t make me.”  She didn’t care if she sounded like a little child.  He couldn’t make her and so she wasn’t going.

They fell silent as the new wolves streamed toward them.  They leapt over their comrades, skidding in the bloodied mud but coming closer and closer.  Keira shot as soon as they were in range until a pile of furred bodies lay only yards away, and still they came.

She was going to die.  It would only take one of these wolves to break through the hail of bullets and hit one of them.  She couldn’t beat a shifted werewolf in hand to hand combat.  She’d fight ‘til her last breath and Lachlan would too but it wouldn’t matter.

Time slowed down.  Each bullet seemed to take an eon to reach its target, the recoil shattering up her arm as she watched yet another body explode in blood, stagger, fall.  Before the wolf hit the ground she pointed her weapon at another wolf and it started all over again.

Everything seemed crystal clear.  She had tried to fight her feelings, tried to avoid the huge change in her life that being Lachlan’s mate would bring, but it didn’t matter.  As soon as they’d entered the Stronghold, her life had changed and it would never go back again.

Especially now, since she was about to die.

If she could live, though...if she could live, she’d stop fighting with Lachlan and give in.  They had a long way to go, but she knew the symptoms.  What she felt for him was love, or the beginnings of it.  She didn’t want to be apart from him.  She didn’t want to leave him.  And no way in hell would she let him die while she had breath left in her body.

A wolf catapulted over the pile of corpses, coming within two feet of her before falling to her bullets.

“Run, Keira.  For the love of the Gods,” Lachlan growled.

“Never.”  She didn’t say it loudly but she didn’t have to.  He’d hear her.

Another wolf leapt at her.  She took two steps back, going almost into the tent itself.  The wolf fell where she’d been standing.

This was it.  The next one would get her.

Then everything stopped.  Five men in camo leapt over the pile of dead wolves.  Keira hit one in the chest and he stepped backward and tripped over the body of one of his comrades before falling.  Another man’s chest bloomed with red as either Lachlan or Niall hit it.

“Stop!”  The three remaining men stood before them pointing automatic rifles at them.  The one speaking had dark hair cut short in a conventional business style and dark brown eyes.  His clothes were all black and looked neat and tidy.  “You’re surrounded, Lachlan.  Surrender.”

That must be Sebastian.  Asshole.

“We both know there’s no surrender,” Lachlan said.  “There’s just one thing I ask.  Let my mate go before you kill me.”

“No!”  Keira fought the urge to take her gun off the enemy and turn to Lachlan.  “I’m not leaving.”

“I can’t let you die.”

Sebastian laughed.  “Sounds like she doesn’t want to go.  Nothing I can do about that.  But there’s no reason for you to die here, Lachlan.  Surrender.  I’ll give you an honest trial.”

#

An honest trial?  Lachlan knew exactly what that would look like.  But what could he do?  Sebastian had him in a stalemate and Lachlan’s mate was in the line of fire.

But where the hell was the backup Niall had called for?  How had things gone so wrong so quickly?  If Lachlan drug this out, would someone show up to help?

“You say we’re surrounded but I see only the three of you,” Lachlan said.

Sebastian’s eyes slid to the side.  “You see anyone riding to your rescue?  That’s because we’ve got them all wrapped up.  I have more wolves than you.  You had to expect this.”

“Not possible,” Niall murmured.  “No way I missed them.”

So–was Sebastian bluffing or was Lachlan in as bad a position as he said?  “I could just kill you,” Lachlan said.

Sebastian adjusted his grip on his rifle.  “Not before I kill your mate.”

Chapter 12

Lachlan’s skin felt stretched tight.  What the hell was he supposed to do?  He hated not knowing what to do.

He couldn’t surrender.  Not without knowing for sure that things were as bad as Sebastian said.  If backup showed up, Lachlan could still win the day.  If Sebastian’s backup showed first, then Lachlan would lose, which was still better than surrendering.

Lachlan lifted his weapon a little higher, keeping it trained on Sebastian.  Only choice was to wait it out.

The sound of a vehicle roaring reached them from the North.  A few seconds later, a Jeep raced out of the trees and skidded to a halt next to the tent.  Lachlan couldn’t take his eyes off of Sebastian long enough to look.

A lone figure raced to stand at the edge of their killing ground.  “Stop it, both of you.”

Greer.

Gods damn it.  Now two of the women he should be protecting were in harm’s way.  “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Lachlan growled.

“Stopping this madness.  Stand down, Sebastian.”  Greer’s usually kept her dark blond hair in a neat bob but today it looked messy and tousled.

Sebastian laughed but his shoulders hunched just a little.  “You must be mad.”

“If you hurt my brother, I’ll never forgive you.  And you–you can’t kill him, Lachlan.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“He’s my mate.”

What was she thinking?  “You’re daft.  Cousins can’t be mates.”

Greer took a step forward, closer to the line of fire.  “You think I don’t know that?  I don’t know how this happened but it did.  Tell him, Sebastian.”

Sebastian straightened, his rifle lowering just a little.  “It’s true.  I first scented her in London.  And now...”  His dark gaze flickered toward Greer.  “Your mother must’ve stepped out on your father.”

Lachlan growled, gripping his weapon tighter.  “You take that back.”

Greer laughed.  “Have you seen my family?  We all look alike, every one of us.  And we’re the spitting image of Da as well as Mum.  If anyone stepped out, it must’ve been your mum, Sebastian.”

Sebastian growled.  “I’ll not have you insulting my mother.”

The sound of rustling leaves and heavy breathing reached Lachlan.  Wolves, lots of them.  But so quiet he couldn’t tell which direction they came from.

“Surrender,” Sebastian said.  “You can’t kill me or it’ll kill your sister.  Surrender, and I’ll let your mate go.”

“Nice try.  You no doubt hear the same thing I do,” Lachlan said.  “If those are my wolves, I win.  If they’re yours, you win.  No way in hell I’m surrendering without knowing who’s coming.”

Sebastian swung his weapon and pointed it at Keira.  “Surrender or I’ll kill her.”

Greer jumped out in front of Keira.  “Shoot her and you’ll kill yourself.”

Sebastian growled.  “Move.”

“No.”

The squish of paws impacting the soft ground grew louder just before the first wolves broke out of the tree cover into the clearing around the tent.  Then they were everywhere–hundreds of wolves streaming in from behind, from the West.  Their scent surrounded Lachlan and he knew.

He’d won.

Lachlan smiled.  “Stand down.  Don’t worry; you’ll have a fair trial.”  There was a problem, though.  What about Greer?  Normally the punishment for treason would be death–but if he killed Greer’s mate, he’d kill her too.

They’d have to figure that out later.

Sebastian and his two wolves continued to hold their guns on Lachlan.

“It’s over,” Lachlan said.  “You can’t expect to gain anything at this point.”

“You’re in the wrong,” Sebastian said.  “You know it.”

Lachlan took a step forward.  “You’re in the wrong.  You should have challenged me directly but instead you dragged our wolves to war and killed who knows how many of them.  And now when you’re clearly beaten, you think to lecture me about right and wrong?  Put your damned rifles down.”

Sebastian and his wolves hesitated a moment longer then put their weapons on the ground and lifted their hands in the air.  Several of Lachlan’s wolves had already shifted and quickly took the three English wolves into custody.

Greer stalked over to Lachlan, her blue eyes flashing.  “The English Alpha position is vacant.  What will you do now?”

“Iain will have to take it,” Lachlan said.  “I can’t have another English wolf in there for a good long time.”

She growled.  “Iain doesn’t want the position.  I do.”

Not this again.  “We’ve talked about this.  A woman can’t be the Alpha.”

Keira stepped closer to them.  The blood spatter on her cheek reminded him how close she’d come to dying.  “Why on earth not?”

“Tradition,” he ground out.  “I’m a little busy here.”

Behind Greer, Lachlan’s wolves pulled Sebastian to the ground and bound his hands behind him.  It wasn’t possible to shift tied like that–he’d dislocate his shoulders.

“Bugger tradition,” Greer said.  “Tradition got you into this spot.  Tradition is why Sebastian’s wolves thought they had the right to go to war.  It’s time for a change.  I’d be a great Alpha and you know it.”

Beside his sister, Keira stood, gazing at him.  All of a sudden, he knew this was a test.  Would he accept a strong woman?  If he couldn’t accept his sister as an Alpha, how could he accept a woman like Keira as his partner and equal?

It wasn’t that he didn’t think Greer would do a good job.  It was that he didn’t think the other wolves would accept her.  But could that really be worse than Sebastian?  “It wouldn’t be easy.  The English wolves would fight you all the way–not just because you’re female but also because you’re Scottish.”

The side of her mouth lifted.  “I have an ace in the hole.  Now that Sebastian’s my mate, it gives me a certain amount of protection.  If they kill me, they’ll kill him too.  And they wouldn’t dare do that.”

They’d say he was crazy for doing this but it made the most sense–for his relationship as well as for politics.  Greer was right; Iain didn’t want to be the English Alpha.  And because of that, he wouldn’t put his heart into it.  She would.  If she could get past the hatred, she’d do a damned fine job.  “All right.  I’ll give you a shot.”

Her face nearly glowed.  “If I didn’t need to be dignified, I might whoop.”

“There are problems.  For starters, you’re mated to a traitor.  By all rights, I should keep him at the Stronghold but you’ll wither if you go to London without him.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Greer said.  “Thank you.”  She threw her arms around his neck.  “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you got out in one piece.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Do me a favor and load your traitor mate into one of my trucks and then guard him, will you?”

“You’re cruel, you know that?  I hate the man’s guts.”

She hated her mate.  Heaven help them.  “Then you have a serious problem.”

“Don’t I know it.”  Greer turned and headed for Sebastian.

Lachlan dropped his arm around Keira’s shoulders.  “Thank the gods I don’t have that problem.”

“I’ll drink to that.”  Keira slid her arm around his waist.

Something had changed in the fight.  He didn’t have time right now to tease it all out but her not being willing to leave–her being willing to die to protect him–that meant something.  He needed to make sure she saw it too.

Iain arrived and, after hugging Greer, got the run-down on what had happened and what would happen next.  Lachlan had never seen anyone so happy not to get a promotion.  Iain had actually hugged Lachlan when he told him he didn’t have to be the English Alpha.

Then Lachlan and Iain arranged the clean-up.  All the uninjured Scottish wolves were sent across the battlefield to try to find any injured.  Medics were hard at work on the wounded.

The English wolves who hadn’t turned tail and run at the end of the battle–and many of them had–got down on their knees and swore fealty to Lachlan and then to Greer.  Then their names were taken down.  Lachlan and Greer could figure out punishments, where appropriate, later.  For now, Lachlan had no place to take all the English wolves prisoner and he didn’t see the point, either.  At the end of a war, you didn’t imprison the foot solders; you sent them home.  So he did.

Last, they had to tend to their dead.  A contingent got to work identifying the dead wolves and sending them home to their families as quickly as possible.  There were fewer dead than Lachlan had thought but more than he’d hoped.

Fighting as wolves had done the trick, resulting in fewer mortal injuries and more wounds that the wolves themselves could heal.  He had to think it was more than that, though.  It seemed wolves on both sides had opted for incapacitating their opponents rather than going for the kill.  If they could do that even in the heat of battle, it gave Lachlan hope for the future.

Lachlan sent Greer and Sebastian back to the Stronghold.  Hours later, he and Keira had done everything they could and climbed into a troop transport.  Keira relaxed against him and quickly fell asleep.  Lachlan wouldn’t have thought he could do the same with the truck bouncing along on bad shocks and the wind rushing past the canvas of the supports but a few hours later he woke as they pulled through the gate into the Stronghold.

Lachlan shook Keira awake.  “We’re here.”  As soon as the truck rolled to a halt they got out.  He slipped his arm around her shoulders.  “Let’s get something to eat.”

“I need to clean up first.  I’ll meet you at the dining hall.”

For a second, he wondered if she planned to split.  Then he shook it off.  If he couldn’t trust her now, he’d never be able to.  “I’ll get food for you.  Anything in particular you want?”

“Steak, if they’ve got it.”  Before he headed for the dining hall, he couldn’t help himself.  He pulled her close and laid a kiss on her lips.  “See you in a few.”

She smiled and he could have been wrong but it sure looked genuine.

#

Keira headed back to Lachlan’s rooms–scratch that, their rooms–and immediately stripped.  She didn’t remember the last time she felt so grungy and disgusting.  It wasn’t all physical, either.  She knew they’d been in battle and that if she hadn’t killed those werewolves they would have killed Lachlan and her.  But she still struggled not to think about them as human beings.  And she’d killed them.

She climbed into the shower.  She still had to finish things with the Guild and tell Gillian.  And Lachlan of course.  At least he’d be excited.  The guild would be livid and Gill...she didn’t know how Gill would take it.

She scrubbed her skin ‘til every bit of blood was gone and washed her hair at least three times.  Back in the room, she sat down on the bed, wrapped in her robe, and pulled out her cell phone.  May as well get the hardest part over with.  She dialed Gill.

It went immediately to voicemail.  She must have her phone off.  After the beep, Keira said, “Hey, Gillie.  I have some news but I don’t want to leave it in a message.  Call me back, okay?”

She hated that she felt a little relieved that her sister hadn’t picked up.  Telling Gill that their partnership was over wouldn’t be easy.

Since that call hadn’t taken any time, she called Harris.

“What?” he said.

No need to sugar coat it.  “I’m resigning.”

For a moment, she heard dead silence.  “You can’t do that.  Dragon slayers don’t resign.”

“Well, I am.”

“Does this have to do with that wolf who thinks you’re his mate?”

It wouldn’t hurt for him to know, although it wasn’t any of his business either.  “Yes.  I’m staying with him.  So fill out whatever paperwork you need to.”

“You can’t resign.”

“You can’t make me stay.  Come after me and I’m pretty sure my mate will have something to say about it.”

“Aye.”  Lachlan’s voice came from behind her.  He stood in the doorway holding two plates and grinning.

She couldn’t help the flutter in her belly.  “Bye.”  She hung up.  “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

Lachlan sauntered into the room, kicking the door closed behind him then putting the plates on the table.  “I’m not sorry about it.  It’s the nicest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

Keira moved to the table and picked up a fork.  “Looks good.”

Trailing his hand down her cheek, he said, “Sure does.  I’m not so interested in the food anymore.”

“Really?  I’m starved.”  As she shoved a forkful of food in her mouth she knew she wouldn’t last long.  Just his fingers on her cheek made her shiver.  She could tease him, make him think what she wanted was food, but before long her desire would take over.

Lachlan slid his hands around her waist.  “Lass, dinna make me wait any longer.”  He nuzzled her throat.  “I want you so verra badly.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she was reminded once again how tall Lachlan was.  Tall and broad and hard.  “Don’t you think we should eat to get our strength up?”

He nipped at the underside of her jaw.  “We’ll do that after the first round.”

She laughed, pulling herself closer to him.  “Our food will get cold.”

“Did you not notice?  I brought mostly cold non-perishables.  It’ll keep.”  Laying kisses on her throat and collarbone, he walked her backward toward the bed.

Clever, clever mate.  “How did you know I’d say yes?”

Chapter 13

His forehead rested against hers, his eyes gazing at her.  “On the battlefield, you would not leave me to save yourself.  Foolish as it was, you insisted on staying in order to protect me.  I did not know for sure you’d say yes this morning but I had great hope I’d make you see the light.”

“Well.  Success.”

“I love you, Keira Harlow.  You may tell me I don’t know you well enough but I care nothing for that.  I love you and I always will.  And one day you’ll love me back.”

Her chest felt tight.  “One day is here.”

He didn’t breathe.  “What are you saying, lass?”

“I love you too.  Even though I don’t know you well enough and there’s no way this should be happening.  Doesn’t matter.  I love you.”

He picked her up, squeezing her tight against him and burying his face in her shoulder.  “Gods, how I’ve wanted to hear that.”

She squeezed him back, feeling a sense of belonging she hadn’t had in a very long time.

#

Lachlan put his knee on the bed and gently lowered his tough-as-nails mate to her back then settled himself on top of her.  The feel of her against him, underneath him, was enough to drive him crazy.  He captured her lips while he struggled to keep himself under control.

Sliding her hands under his shirt, Keira stroked the bare skin of his back.  Lachlan deepened the kiss, loving the feel of his mate touching him.  He reciprocated, pushing her shirt up to reveal the paler skin of her stomach then laying kisses against it.  He slowly pulled her shirt higher and higher, giving himself a little tease instead of baring her all at once.

“I like your body,” Keira murmured against his lips.

“I think that’s my line.”

He felt her mouth smile under his.  “It’s mine now.”  She squeezed his back with her hands.

Lachlan pulled her shirt a little higher then brushed his mouth across the underside of her bra-clad breast.  He kissed it again and again, moving toward the center until he finally buried his face between her breasts.  When he’d had his fill, he pushed her shirt up until her entire chest lay exposed and then he traced his finger along the top of one breast at the bra line.

“I’m not much for lingerie,” she said.

“I hope you’re not apologizing.  I like seeing you in your skivvies, whatever they look like.”  Hers were white cotton, serviceable.  He loved the way they hugged her curves.

“Don’t men like lacey, frilly things?”

He kissed her cheekbone.  “Women think men like lacey, frilly things.  Men like naked things and things that barely cover naked things.”

She chuckled.

“But right now, I’d like you to take it off.”

“I’d love to.  But you’re kind of pinning me down.”

Lachlan grumbled playfully as he climbed to his feet and pulled Keira to hers.  She reached behind herself and unclasped the bra which loosened tantalizingly.  Then instead of merely pulling it off, she pulled the straps down her arms holding the cups in place until the only thing holding the bra was her hand.

“Let go,” Lachlan said.

She cocked her hip, in one instant going from a tough, hardened fighter to a coy, flirtatious lover.  “What’ll you give me?”

He stepped forward.  “A hundred kisses.”

“Where?”

Gods, he loved this side of her.  “On those sweet, pert breasts of yours, and lower, on your delicious little clit.”

“Delicious?”

“Delicious.  And I plan to lick it on a regular basis.”

She moaned deep in her throat.  “Sounds good.  All right.”  Slowly, she pulled the bra cups away from her body, revealing the curves of her breasts then skin, then the dusky edges of her nipples and finally their tips.

Lachlan couldn’t stop himself from reaching forward and rubbing them.  “Beautiful.  My beautiful mate.”  He pinched her nipples, drawing a gasp from her, then slid his hands down her sides, noting the strong muscles, to hook her pants and tug.

“They don’t come off that way.”  Keira unbuttoned and unzipped her pants.  “Now you can pull them off.”

He pushed, catching her underwear with his fingers at the same time and baring her flat stomach, neat black curls and long, well-muscled legs.  He sucked in his breath.  “Beautiful.”

“I’m just me.”

“You’re perfect.”  He grinned.  “For me.”

Keira stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.  He quickly wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.  Her skin felt soft underneath his well-used hands and he felt lucky, so lucky.

“There’s a problem,” he said.

“What’s that?”  Her voice sounded muffled with her face pressed against his chest.

“I want to be naked too.”

She tipped her head to look up at him.  “That’s not a problem.  It’s an opportunity.”  And with that, she went after the button on his pants.

Not to be outdone, he yanked off his shirt and kicked off his boots.  As soon as she pulled down his zipper, he joined her in pushing his pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles.  “Much better.”  He stepped out of his pants, advancing on her.  “Now, about that delicious clit.”

When she reached the edge of the bed she crab-walked backward on it, giving him tantalizing glimpses of her sweet pink pussy.

Lachlan joined her on the bed, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking.  Moaning, Keira gripped the back of his head.  When he’d had his fill, he moved to her other breast, lightly biting the nipple before licking it to ease away any pain.

Underneath him, Keira moved her hips, spreading her legs enough so he could settle between them.  “You’re very good at that.”  Her voice sounded hoarse.  “Had much practice?”

He licked down her sternum toward her belly button.  “With you, I’m like new fallen snow.”

She snorted.  “Full of it?”

Laying kisses on her abdomen, he said, “You’re the one who’ll soon be full of me.”

Keira stroked his hair as he moved even lower, the bottom half of his body coming off the side of the bed.  “That sounds so good.”

Lachlan pushed her thighs wider, revealing Keira’s pussy already damp from arousal.  And the scent...Gods, he could breathe her in all day.

Torn between wanting this first time to be amazing and the overpowering urge to mark her as quickly as possible, Lachlan managed only a few kisses to the insides of her thighs before settling himself in and taking that first long lick of her.

Keira lifted her hips so he wrapped his arm around them to hold them in place.  He was in charge.  At least at the moment.

Then he feasted.  He sucked her clit for a moment, just long enough to feel her hips straining against his forearms.  Then he moved downward, tongue gliding along the long, smooth stretch of her clit between her labia.  Up and down, up and down.  At first, her hips relaxed but before long she tensed up again, her muscles beginning to shudder as her breathing became quick and filled with little moans.

“What are you doing to me?”  She gripped the sheets in her fists as her back arched.

Lachlan didn’t stop to answer her.  Up and down, up and down.  Her shaking got stronger until she froze, gripped tight, and then exploded into tremors hard enough that he had to hold on or be bucked off.

Just when he thought she was done, her body would tighten again and another series of shudders rushed through her.  He kept at her clit but inside he couldn’t stop the feeling of pride at giving his mate multiple orgasms.

Finally her shaking died away and she pushed at his shoulder.  He knew she’d be overly sensitive right now and needed him to stop so he moved to lie on top of her instead.

Her eyelids looked ready to droop.  “It’s your turn.”

“That’s right.  I finally get to make love to you and bite you.”

“No.”  She pushed his shoulder.  It was such a strong, sudden move that before he knew it he lay on his back with her rising over him.  “We’re not quite up to that yet.”  Then she took his cock in her hand and lowered her head.

“Lass, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is.”  Her warm breath brushed his cock when she spoke.

“I want to last long enough to mark ye, not come like a wee boy having his first blowjob.”

She chuckled.  “I’ll keep it short, then.  This time.  And you can show me what a big boy you are by holding yourself together.”  The look in her eye was pure wickedness.

“Lass--”  Once her mouth closed over him, he lost the power of speech.  The moist heat, the strong strokes and the sight of his beautiful mate pleasuring him combined to nearly push him over the edge.  He gritted his teeth and held on.

Keira paused and licked the top of his cock like a lollypop.  “How’re you doing?”

“I think we’re about done.”

“So soon?”

He sat up.  “There’ll be plenty of time later for this kind of fun.  Right now I need to mark ye.”  As he moved toward her, she moved backward until she lay on her back with him looming over her.  “Ready, lass?”

“Will it hurt?”

“You asked me that once before, remember?”

Keira licked her lips.  “You said it would hurt for a second and then I’d have the best orgasm of my life.  It’s hard to imagine anything better than what I just had.”

He felt like beating on his chest with both hands.  He’d just given his mate her best orgasm ever and he was about to top it.  He couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face.  “Exactly so.”

She slid her legs apart and allowed him to settle between them.  “Men.”

Lachlan captured her lips with his, running his hands over her body.  This was it.  He felt like he’d waited his whole life for this moment.  Releasing her lips, he positioned himself and pushed into her, her wet pussy giving him no resistance.

Keira groaned.  “Is it supposed to feel this good?”

“This is just the beginning.”  He began to thrust, feeling the tension in his body rising with each stroke.  “I won’t be able to hold off long, not after you sucked my cock like that.”  He kissed her temple.

“You liked it?”

“I loved it.”  His fangs slid down.  He might want to go a little longer but his wolf thought otherwise.  His wolf wanted his mate marked.  Now.  “Ready?”

Keira sucked in her breath.  “Yes.”

Without missing a stroke, he brushed his fangs along the meaty part of her shoulder.  His tongue darted out to taste her, tracing over her skin.  Then he settled his teeth where he wanted the bite, his wolf clamoring.  He sucked in a breath.

Then he bit.

#

As Lachlan’s teeth slid into her shoulder, Keira felt a moment’s pain followed by a rush of emotion–love, contentment, joy–followed quickly by a sharp tightening of her belly catapulting her into an orgasm so intense she lost track of time, she heard nothing but her heart pounding and saw nothing but the blue-black of eyes squeezed tight.

Over and over, the sensations washed through her like a monsoon, keeping her in their grip while she tossed in the waves, completely out of control.  Even her brain felt like it clenched tight and released, clenched tight and release, awash in inky blackness.

And then she heard breathing and knew it wasn’t her own.  And then she felt a weight on top of her.  And then she felt Lachlan’s teeth sliding out of her shoulder.

Keira opened her eyes and looked into Lachlan’s.  There was too much to say and none of it was adequate–‘that was amazing’ and ‘you weren’t lying about that orgasm’–but she went with what seemed best.  “I love you.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips.  “I love you too.”  His fingers brushed over her wound.  “And now everyone will know you’re mine.”

She should probably feel annoyed by his possessiveness but instead she felt happy to be his.  “So how soon can we go for round two?  And can you ever bite me like that again or is it a one-time deal?”

Just as he opened his mouth to answer, her phone rang.  She cursed.  A couple of minutes earlier and she’d have had a good excuse for ignoring it but not now.  It could be Gill.

She grabbed the phone on the bedside table and curled back into Lachlan’s arms.  She didn’t recognize the number but it looked like it was coming from the States.  So, not Gill.  Keira put the phone to her ear.  “Hello?”

“Slayer Keira Harlow?” a man’s voice said.  He had a thick Boston accent.

Not Harris, either.  “Not anymore.”

“We understand you wish to resign.  We’d like to make a counter offer.”

It didn’t escape her that he hadn’t identified himself.  Would this be one of those counter offers like ‘come back to work for us or you’ll be swimming with the fishes?’  “And who are you?”

“Names aren’t necessary.  I’m your boss’s boss’s boss.”

Holy shit.  She didn’t know exactly how many layers there were in the hierarchy, but not many more than that.

“If I understand correctly, your reason for resigning is to mate this werewolf.”

Keira swallowed.  “The Alpha of the UK, yes.  I can’t live a nomadic life and be mated to him as well.”

“This was sudden.  Are you sure you’re not under some spell?”

Keira’s eyes met Lachlan’s.  She knew for sure he was listening to every word.  “I am under a spell, sir, but it’s a very mundane one.  I love him.”

She heard a breath of air, not quite a sigh, coming from the man.  “Very well.  We’d like you to continue your librarian duties as much as you can remotely and train to become a handler.”

Thoughts swirled in her mind.  The handlers usually chose the targets.  She’d be able to research marks and send her slayers out after truly dangerous dragons.  She’d be in a better position to protect the ones who weren’t doing anything wrong.

And she’d get to keep working.  She hadn’t even had time to think about it but without a job, a calling, she’d rattle around this castle and go nuts.  Now she wouldn’t have to.

She looked at Lachlan.  “Do you want to?” he mouthed.

Keira nodded.

“Then do it,” he whispered.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say but at his words she relaxed.  “I accept.”

“Good.  Someone will be in touch in the next couple of days.  Until then, you’re on leave.”

“What about my sister?”

The man was silent for far too long.  “Your sister is a special case, one I can’t talk about at this time.  Since we’re sure you didn’t have anything to do with her transgression, we’re willing to keep you on.”

Keira sat up.  “Transgression?”

“That’s all I can say.  Thank you for your continued service, Slayer Harlow.”  The man hung up.

Lachlan put his hand on Keira’s back.

“Transgression?” she said.

“Try calling her.”

Keira dialed.  “I tried her earlier, before calling Harris, but she had her phone turned off.”  Once again, the call flipped to voicemail almost immediately.  Keira hung up.  “I’ll try her again in a little while.”

Together they lay back on the bed, curled around each other.  “I didn’t get a chance to answer your question,” he said.  “What I’ve been told is if I bite you in the same spot again, the orgasm will be just as strong as the first.”

“Really?”  Maybe being a werewolf’s mate had some perks.  “Was it a stronger orgasm for you too or just me?”

He brushed some hair off her forehead.  “For me too.  Best orgasm I ever had.”  They gazed into each other’s eyes.  “I love you, lass.  I always will.”

“I love you, too.”  She hugged him, resting her head against his chest.  With Lachlan’s love, she’d finally found something she hadn’t even known she was looking for...home.

A steamy werewolf romance from New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Tabitha Conall...

Her Forbidden Alpha

When North American Pack Alpha Darius finds his mate, Aislinn, at a peace conference with a human supremacist group, things quickly implode and he's forced to kidnap her.  The kidnapping takes them to the brink of war and Darius has to make an impossible choice—his love and his sanity, or the lives of his pack.

Read an excerpt at http://www.tabithaconall.com/her-forbidden-alpha/

Liulf

The Mahdrah Ahlee

(New Scotia Pack, Book 1)

Victoria Danann

Copyright 2014 Victoria Danann

Read more about this author and upcoming works at VictoriaDanann.com

PROLOGUE

In Moonlight, Book 4 of the Knights of Black Swan series, The Order assisted with the interdimensional migration of a North American werewolf tribe to help them avert possible extinction. In the process the king, Stalkson Grey, fell in love with a beautiful cult slave named Luna Rejuvenata. With a demon's assistance he stole her away from the cult that held her and abducted her to another world. Eventually the captive's heart was won and she went willingly to the New Elk Mountain werewolf colony in Lunark Dimension where the wolf people’s ancestors had first settled a thousand years earlier.

CHAPTER 1

Even in the best of circumstances, the relationship between humans and werewolves has always been uneasy. The Highlander werewolves used to prosper by stealing from humans. Though the entirety of Scotia was fae territory, the monarchy tolerated the settling of outlying areas by humans. They were allowed to live peaceably and enjoy the proceeds of farm, fish, or timber, but were not allowed to own land. Their very presence, even as non-citizen immigrants, made them the king’s responsibility.

In the 16th century the fae king, King Aden the Red, solved two problems at once by granting the werewolves a provisional territory of all the lands from Inverness north. For the grant of land, the wolves agreed to cease pilfering from the human villages. The wolves refused to admit to mischief or theft of livestock, but agreed they would not, in the future, find themselves in possession of any cattle, sheep, chickens or temporarily misplaced daughters. Additionally, in exchange for regular deposits of fae treasure, they agreed to protect the northeast of Scotia from invasion by the ruddy, bloody berserkers and other plundering Northmen. That codicil established them as the world’s best paid mercenaries of the time, which only enhanced their reputation as warriors no one wanted to anger. Ever.

Though a drain on the royal treasury, the fae king counted himself lucky to strike such a bargain since not even Vikings would dispute the supremacy of werewolves when it came to a fight. Their total commitment to winning was legendary. When it came to prevailing in battle, the werewolves behaved as if the idea of self-preservation was alien to them. But truthfully, they weren’t often tested. The ale house poems sung about their prowess, which was thought to be so formidable as to be untouchable, talked about how enemies fled in fear at the sound of their collective war growl. Of course, horses were the first to flee because they were terrified of the wolf people.

The fact that no Viking raid had been recorded for five hundred years at the time the deal was struck was irrelevant. The threat would be perpetually present due to the proximity, access, and, therefore, vulnerability of Scotia’s coastline. And unlike many monarchies with short term memory, the sharp-witted fae studied the lessons of history and learned from them.

The transaction was accomplished without pen and parchment. Aden the Red knew that, though wolves have their own standard for morality, they are lethally serious about their agreements. So, upon first payment, the rugged Highlander wolves set about establishing a watch of the Scotia Northeast that would form an impenetrable guard, even though there was no perceivable threat.

~~~~

Liulf squatted on the castle parapet with his back to the sound of the ocean crashing against Girnigoe’s black craig cliffs. If he let himself think about the damp cold or the January wind that tried to penetrate flesh and bone, he’d start to shiver in a way that would rack his whole body. So he’d learned to focus on other things. Looking east, over the land he loved, he felt a sense of pride and history. And memory. In his slightly less than four hundred years, he’d covered every inch of pack territory in wolf form and much of it in biped form as well. He knew he was blessed with good things, but that didn’t fill the underlying emptiness that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Lack of purpose maybe. There wasn’t much satisfaction in guarding a border without an aggressor.

That very day a wolf had said it was easy for Liulf to make reckless choices because he didn’t have a mate. Liulf had kept his face passive, but inside the words had stung. It wasn’t as if he could control destiny. What Lycan didn’t want to find his mate? Well, perhaps Conn would prefer to be a bachelor wolf forever.

It was true that Liulf could have settled for a bitch who was merely compatible, as most did. But he hadn’t because he knew there was more. There was mating that was, well, magical. He wouldn't say so out loud because his brothers would never stop razzing him if he did. But he lived with a constant yearning that never subsided, spoken or not.

All the fucking in the world wouldn’t take the edge off his desire. And he should know. All he had to do was keep from cursing the Fates until they saw fit to gift him with the one. The one he knew was out there.

Liulf had no need to turn around to know who was there. His werewolf ears enabled him to hear the swish of skirt on the climb up the steps, even over the wind, and his nose recognized the scent. All too well. Mave.

“Always ye seek solitude, Liulf. Ye do no’ have to be alone. Ye could have a mate ye know.”

Apparently she had overheard the exchange earlier that day and was seizing what she believed to be an opportunity. He closed his eyes and heaved a mighty sigh wondering how many times he’d had this conversation, or one similar, with the bitch. How many more would it take until she accepted the fact that he was not going to be her mate? Ever.

She’d been at it for centuries. She and Liulf had been children together and he’d liked her well enough then. Right up to the day, which he could pinpoint, when the natural course of their friendship had been irrevocably altered. In a way it was his own doing.

He’d come across a group of adolescents teasing her about the budding changes in her pubescent body. They could smell her discomfort and humiliation. Instead of triggering a protective response, it had excited the lads and made them press harder. Liulf had chased them off, then, when he turned to ask if Mave was all right, she’d looked at him like he was a god fallen to earth.

He didn’t think it was possible for true matings to be one sided, which meant that she had mistaken a simple kindness for destiny.

“I’m no’ yer true mate, Mave.”

“Maybe ye are, Liulf. If ye’d just give it another chance…”

He had bedded her once when they were adolescents, before he’d learned how much drink he could handle wisely. He’d regretted it ever since and now refused to even give her the courtesy of turning to face her.

“Mave! Do no’ make me be cruel to ye. Please. Ye’ve got to stop deludin’ yerself and give yerself a chance to find yer true mate. This is no’ good for either of us. ‘Tis no’ me!”

“But perhaps if we couple again, ye’d…”

“Oh, for Drogherd’s sake,” he snapped as he wheeled on her and showed the full force of his displeasure. “If ye persist, there’ll no’ be so much as a scrap of goodwill left between us. If for nothin’ else, have some pride. I. Do. No’. Want. Ye. And ye’ll ne’er be my mate.”

She brought a long sleeve to her face and wiped quickly, then started down the steps. He heard the hiccup of a small sob as she went, but he’d lost his ability to pity her two hundred years in the past. Once again, he sighed the weariness out of his lungs and closed his eyes, trying to regain the relative calm that had been his just a few minutes earlier.

As he pulled the length of heavy wool tartan closer, his knuckles scraped the penannular brooch his mother had given him the first moon he hunted with the pack, a wolf’s head on one side facing a cluster of three rubies on the other, one for himself and each of his litter mates. That was a year before she died.

The three of them were as close as brothers could be. Connuchur was born ten minutes after Liulf made his appearance in the world and Cenead followed a few minutes later. They’d been three male pups born at the same time, same place, same pack, same parents. Yet they couldn’t be more different. Not just in looks, although that was true, too. Liulf had honey-colored hair that he wore long, usually tied with a leather thong, and silver gray eyes. He was also bigger in build than his brothers, stronger, but Conn would just laugh at that and claim to be faster and more agile. Both things were true.

Connuchur had their mother’s black hair and the caramel eyes that ran in the Cu Ahlee bloodlines. His looks were striking, exotic for a werewolf, and didn’t do anything to hurt his quest to stick his dick into every comely bitch alive.

Their youngest brother, Cenead, had hair the color of Liulf’s and eyes the color of Conn’s. He was good-looking in his own unique way since his hair and eyes were so close to the same color. He wasn’t as athletic as his brothers, wasn’t naturally intimidating like Liulf or social and outgoing like Conn, but he was smarter and neither of his brothers ever questioned that.

Liulf heard his brother rushing up the stone steps, each worn to a steep sloped incline by centuries of use and he could tell Ken was taking them three at a time. “Come down, Liulf. Uncle was hurt. They’re bringin’ him back now.”

Liulf rose to his feet. “How bad?”

“’Tis bad. Hurry.”

They raced down the stairs and reached the warmth of the Great Hall just as the heavy doors burst open admitting both the hunting party and the chill.

“Put him on the table,” Liulf ordered waving at the long table in the center of the room that could seat sixty-six. As they laid Dunegan on the table, Liulf turned to his cousin, Ruanaidh. “What happened?”

“We were stalkin’ a big red stag, when we heard the alpha yelp. The arrow went in right below his withers. I guess he shifted from the shock of it and, when he did, the shift rearranged the arrow. It might have punctured a lung. Hard to say. “Tis close to his heart.” Ruaniadh was young. He looked and sounded scared. Dunegan was his mother’s much older brother and had been a father figure. “There was no one close by. We would have smelled them. It had to be a PowerBow with a scope. ‘Tis the only explanation.”

Liulf’s temper started to smolder. “Humans.”

Ruaniadh nodded.

“Liulf.”

The voice that called his name was weak and sounded strained. Liulf hurried to his uncle’s side. It made him cringe to watch Dunegan drag in a halting, ragged breath.

Liulf’s father, Alastair, had been alpha, but after his mate died, he lost interest in leading. Well, truthfully, he lost interest in everything. Alastair had no taste for the responsibilities that go with being alpha and he didn’t think Liulf was yet mature enough to survive a challenge. So Alastair Cu Ahlee named his younger brother, Dunegan, and the succession had gone unchallenged.

Dunegan not only took on the role of alpha, but in the wake of Alastair’s indifference, had also functioned as de facto father to the three boys. Since he had no children of his own, it was an arrangement that worked well. The boys came to respect him like a father and he came to love them like sons.

“Aye. I’m here.”

“Liulf. In another moment or two, ye’ll be alpha.”

“We have help comin’, Uncle.” Liulf turned to one of the castle domestics, who were crowded round, watching the drama unfold. “Get him some Scotch,” he gritted, “And hurry up about it.”

Dunegan squeezed his hand. “No, lad. Let it go now. ‘Tis done except for this. I’ve been keepin’ the  position of alpha warm for ye while ye took yer time growin’ into it. And ye have. Yer ready to be alpha of the Mahdrah Ahlee. And ‘tis a mighty fine thin’ because what fate wants from ye is epic.”

Liulf frowned. “I do no’ understand ye.”

“Listen close. Mahdrah Ahlee can no’ stay here any longer, Liulf. ‘Tis time to go. Truth be told, we should have gone already, but I was no’ the right one to lead us. Talk to Windwalker. He’ll tell you how to take our people to a new world.” He tried to cough, but gurgled instead. “One where we will again be the hunters and no’ the hunted.”

Liulf took the mug of whiskey that was handed to him. He raised Dunegan’s head so that he could give him a taste to dull the pain, just as his uncle’s breath left his body for the last time.

Liulf sat back, still holding the mug in his hand, his own body sagging as he began to process what it meant to be named alpha. His life was changed forever.

When he’d risen, he’d expected that day would be the same as most others. The last thing he’d anticipated was that, before lunch time, he’d be staring at his uncle’s lifeless form with the burden of responsibility for the world’s largest pack of werewolves squarely transferred to his own shoulders. Shoulders that suddenly felt less than adequate to the task.

For three days Liulf pondered the possible meaning of his uncle’s last words like it was a riddle. He and his brothers took the body back to Loch Maree for Dunegan’s funeral rites. For an entire day she-wolves had sung songs to the former alpha, urging his spirit to find its way quickly and safely to the land of passed spirits with its green forests, clear water, and perpetually full moon.

On the evening of the third day, Liulf’s father said words honoring Dunegan. Then the pack watched the flames of the funeral pyre rise high in the night sky, dry wood sparking and spitting. Liulf resisted the urge to pinch his nostrils to alleviate the smell. Much later, when the flames of the funeral pyre had turned to a pile of embers, Liulf stepped forward and faced the crowd, his back to the ashes of the former alpha.

He looked over the hundreds of werewolves and felt that Fate had made a decisive error in putting him in the position of addressing the Highlands pack. But when he took in a breath to summon a loud, clear voice he felt a mystical power of authority wash over and through him, possessing him body and soul. And, for the first time, he felt he might be up to the task of leading when he heard himself speak the ancient words as if with someone else’s vocal chords.

“In accordance with law and tradition, I offer myself to the wolf people of Mahdrah Ahlee. I offer my body to protect and defend ye. I offer my mind to guide us in times of war and tribulation and also in times of peace and prosperity. I offer my heart. To lead is to serve.”

The pack repeated the last line in unison, saying, “To lead is to serve.”

“Any who would challenge me for the privilege of leading the Mahdrah Ahlee, come forward now. Make yer claim.” The winds whipped up behind Liulf blowing his hair and the length of dress tartan that hung to the top of his boots. He waited, slowly looking over the gathering before him.

At length, when it was clear that there would be no challenge, Conn came forward to stand by his brother. Turning to face the crowd, he said, “Let it be known then, near and far. Liulf is Alpha of Mahdrah Ahlee.”

Conn then leaned over and said in a voice low enough that only Liulf could hear. “Better ye than me, brother. Ye’d better no’ e’er think of dyin’ or I’ll be killin’ ye for sure.”

The three brothers entered the alpha’s house together. It was an historic landmark. In centuries past it had been a great stone manor house and had once hosted a fae king for a fishing holiday. Dunegan’s domestic servants came to greet them with smiles, saying, “Welcome, Alpha.”

“Thank ye kindly. I’ll be needin’ a telephone.”

The chief housekeeper showed Liulf to the room where Dunegan had conducted the pack’s business. A welcoming fire had already been laid. The chief housekeeper was a man who had once drug Liulf home by the ear for disrupting the peace of sheep. It hadn’t seemed ike much of a crime at the time. Liulf and his American cousin had been drunk and attempting to ride sheep on a moonlit night. The man who owned the sheep complained that the lads tried to scare the wool right off them, which was ridiculous. Liulf still thought so.

Aidain, the housekeeper smiled. at Liulf as if he was remembering the same thing, and handed him a pewter mug half full of warm mulled wine.

“Will that be all, Alpha?”

“Life is strange, is it no’, Aidain?”

“Indeed it is, Alpha.”

“Aye. That is all. Thank ye for the fire and the wine.”

“Ye’re most welcome, Alpha.”

“I’ll no’ be thankin’ ye for the discipline though.”

Aidain chuckled and closed the door behind him.

When he was finally alone, Liulf removed his dress tartan shawl and sank down in the chair, glad to be alone. He would have liked to simply sit there unmoving for weeks, allowing the events of the past three days to seep in slowly so that he could make sense of it all. But he no longer had the luxury of indulging personal whims.

He glanced at the clock, then opened his uncle’s desk to search for Win’s phone number. Windwalker was his cousin on his mother’s side. Liulf’s aunt had met an alpha from North America when he was visiting Scotland and had returned with him. She sent Win to spend summers at Loch Maree so that the connection between families would not be lost.

Liulf and Win had been inseparable when he visited, getting into so much trouble together that Win was constantly threatened with being sent home.

“Win? ‘Tis yer favorite cousin.”

“Liulf,” Win chuckled, sounding glad for the call. “I haven’t heard from you in too long.”

“Can say the same of ye.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind it if somebody would wave a magic wand and tell me I had the summer off to play around Loch Maree this year.”

“Again, I can say the same. Oft times I’d like to be a carefree pup. Did ye hear that Dunegan passed over?”

There was enough of a silent pause to answer Liulf’s question. No. He hadn’t heard.

“That’s… ah… I didn’t know.”

“’Twas sudden. We just came from the funeral. Pyre coals are still burnin’.”

“How did it…?”

“He was at Girnigoe. In wolf form. Shot by a PowerBow, but none saw anythin’.”

Again there was a lengthy silence. “Humans.”

“No doubt.”

“I’m sorry for it. I liked your uncle.” Pause. “So that must mean that Conn is alpha.”

Liulf’s mouth dropped open and his face went slack. He was stunned that Win would think Dunegan would skip over him and name Connuchur. Of all wolves! Then he heard Win chuckling and relaxed.

“And if I said aye? Would ye no’ feel foolish then?”

“If you said aye to Conn being alpha, I would know the world had come to an end.”

Liulf inhaled a big breath. “Well, that’s part of the reason for my call. Dunegan said some very strange thin’s as he was dyin’. He said I should talk to ye about them.”

“I can guess. Tell me what he said.”

“Well, ‘tis perhaps no’ word for word, but ‘twas somethin‘ about takin’ our people to a new world where we would no’ be hunted. Do ye know what he meant?”

Liulf expected Win to say that he couldn’t decipher the hallucinations of a dying man. He really wasn’t prepared to hear Win say, “Yes. I do.”

For the next hour Win told a story that sounded more like science fiction than family history. Win began by saying, “Guess who’s king of the Elk Mountain tribe?”

“Are ye, Win? I had no’ heard.”

“Guess where the old man is?”

Liulf felt his hair follicles stand on end with excitement. “He did no’ pass away?”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“He’s gone to the place you’re asking about. Took a lot of us with him. A few stayed, including me. Cloud was pregnant with the twins and was scared about the trip. Then there was the simple fact that someone needed to stay behind and look after those who refused to go. Next time I get the chance to choose though…” He trailed off, but Liulf got the gist of how that sentence would be finished.

“Where is this new world?”

Win laughed softly. “That’s the part you’re not going to believe.”

Win was right. It took some time for him to convince Liulf that he was telling the truth, that the planet to which our reality is anchored consists of many dimensions existing side by side, that there are a few creatures who are able to travel between them at will, some of them who work for The Order of the Black Swan. And that werewolves had migrated and colonized one of the alternate dimensions thousands of years ago. They had opted out of trying to share a world with humans, even at a time when there weren’t enough humans on the entire planet to fill New York City.

Win said he could get in touch with someone he knew at Black Swan and ask them to contact him. He told Liulf not to be surprised if he was paid a visit in person.

Liulf brought the mulled wine to his lips while he stared into the fire. He lifted his head when he heard a knock at the door. Conn and Ken entered and closed the door behind them.

“Ye knocked,” Liulf announced, half amazed.

“Aye, well, yer alpha now,” Conn said with a half grin. Liulf snorted and turned back to the fire. “So what did Win say?”

‘Preposterous fantasies.”

“No. Really.”

Liulf looked from one brother to the other. “Let me sit on it for a day or two.”

Conn turned to Ken. “He’s officially been alpha for an hour and he’s already got secrets.”

Ken smiled. “Heavy is the head and all that.” He rose like he was about to leave. “Meat and bread in the kitchen. ‘Twas good if ye’re hungry.”

“I may wander there in a bit.”

“I’m turnin’ in. Will ye be wantin’ me to head back to Girnigoe in the mornin’?”

“No’ just yet. Let me see how this thin’ with Win comes about and then we’ll decide.”

“Very well. G’night, Alpha.”

“Stop it,” he chided at Ken, suddenly feeling centuries, rather than minutes, older.

Conn left a few minutes later. When the mug was empty, Liulf climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. The alpha’s house was more home to the Cu Ahlee brothers than any other place on earth. When Liulf reached Dunegan’s chamber, he stood outside for a while before opening the door. Then he stood inside the alpha’s private bedroom for a longer while trying to imagine himself occupying that room. Eventually he concluded that he would never feel at home in the alpha’s chamber and went down the hall to the room that had been designated his when he was at Loch Maree. He fell on top of the bed without undressing and immediately slipped into a deep slumber with vivid dreams of other worlds.

CHAPTER 2

The next thing he knew a bright female voice was saying, “Wakey. Wakey. Rise and shine!”

Liulf opened his eyes to find a strange woman standing at the foot of his bed. His first thought was to wonder how she got past the night servants. He glanced at the door and saw that it was closed.

“Who are ye and how did ye get…?”

She held up a pair of handcuffs padded with what appeared to be sheepskin, dyed purple and gave him a winning smile.

“Want to go for a ride?”

He sniffed. She wasn’t human nor was she elf or fae. She wasn’t anything he’d encountered before, but she did cut a fine feminine form with emerald green eyes and the dark curly hair of a wilding. Perhaps there were benefits to being alpha he hadn’t known about. He was on board with an early morning tumble and considering the possible uses of handcuffs, but decided he should take the prudent approach.

“Let me add a few questions to the rapidly growin’ list and I would strongly encourage ye to answer this time. “Who are ye? What are ye? How did ye get in here? And what are ye plannin’ to do with those?”

“You wake up in a foul mood, don’t you? You sound more like a bear rising from hibernation than a werewolf who had a good night’s sleep.” She looked him over. “In his clothes,” she added drily. ”And I like a kilt as much as the next woman, but yours is ooching upward and I’m a married woman so…” She waved her finger toward where his privates were partially exposed.

At least she had answered the question as to whether or not the visit had carnal intentions. He pushed his kilt down to preserve her modesty and waited.

“I’m Litha Liberty Brandywine Storm. I work for Black Swan. I’m half witch, half demon. I got in here using the same process that’s going to take you to scout Lunark Dimension. Winwalker Grey… he’s your cousin, right? Says you’re hoping for an exploratory mission. I’m your ride. These handcuffs are to make sure you don’t get lost somewhere en route. My idiot father lost my husband a few years ago and it was the very devil finding him and getting him back. Since then, we use handcuffs for insurance. Just think of it as a safety feature.”

Liulf was halfway wishing she hadn’t answered his questions. “I’m gettin’ up now.”

“Please do. I haven’t got all day.”

He towered over the intruder. “If ‘twill no’ be overly inconveniencin’ ye, I need to relieve myself of some well-processed mulled wine.” He ran his tongue around his mouth and found he didn’t like the morning after taste. “When I return, we shall discuss this ‘ride’ ye speak of.” He turned at the door in time to catch her yawning. “I’d offer ye a coffee or tea, but I am no’ yet ready to reveal the details of this… em, adventure, to my brothers. So if ye would no’ mind waitin’ here.” She wiggled her head on her shoulders in a gesture that was neither a shake nor a nod. He took it as acquiescence. “Ye know, I’ve ne’er met a half witch or a half demon and I’m suddenly feelin’ that, since ye claim to be both, ye have me at a disadvantage.”

“Don’t be afraid.”

His face clouded over with a glare as he gritted out, “I did no’ say I am afraid.”

“Good. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m married to a Black Swan knight.“

He stared at her for a moment longer before slipping through the door while being careful that no one saw the visitor.

Litha sat down on the unmade bed and twirled the handcuffs, looking around the sparse room while she waited. When Liulf returned, he closed the door, locked it, and leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Do ye no’ have any words of preparation for me? Do ye typically just grab people from a sound sleep withou’ explanation? Wavin’ fuzzy purple restraints about in the air? And expect them to trust ye with…”

“Interdimensional travel? Well, I wouldn’t say that giving newbies rides through the passes is exactly typical, but I have done it many times. What would you like to know?”

“How likely is it that I will be comin’ back here to this room? Shortly and in one piece?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Well, now that is comfortin’. Would ye say that my dress is appropriate?”

She looked him over. “Sure. You look fine for somebody who slept in their getup. So you ready?”

In fact he wasn’t ready and he didn’t like having his formal clothing referred to as a “getup”, but he was self-aware enough to know that another hundred questions and answers were not going to make him more ready.

He eyed the handcuffs suspiciously. “Which hand do ye want?”

“Left.”

He held his left arm up. No sooner did he hear the chink of the cuff being snapped than he was in a grayish rosy fog so thick and murky that he couldn’t make anything out. Not even the woman who took him from his home. He took little comfort in knowing that he’d lose all credibility as alpha if he admitted to either willingly embarking on such an insane course of action or being taken forcibly.

Between not being able to get any perspective on where he was and the sensation of traveling very fast, without moving feet, he began to feel unwell. When his brain caught up to the fact that his feet weren’t moving, they made a pitiful, ineffective attempt to participate in forward momentum even if there was no frame of reference for the mobility.

Dizziness followed and nausea soon after that. He was just about to notify his abductor that vomit was eminent, when they came to an abrupt halt on a pleasant-smelling grassy berm. Having become unused to standing on his feet – even in the short time they’d been underway, Liulf concluded the experience by promptly collapsing on his rear end.

He looked around quickly, not to see if anyone had witnessed the tumble, but to reestablish his equilibrium. At least that was the story he’d be telling.

After getting to his feet, Liulf found that bending over with hands above knees helped with both the nausea and dizziness. After a rapid succession of deep breaths and a string of assurances by Litha Something Something Something that he would be fine, he felt a slap on his back and heard a friendly laugh.

“He’s all yours,” she was saying. “When do you want me to pick him up?”

“Give us the day,” replied a deep gravelly voice that was vaguely familiar. “And thank you.”

“Sure. You want me to bring anything when I come back?”

“Dark chocolate. Much as you can carry.”

“You’re a fan of chocolate?”

“No. That would be Luna. You could be indirectly responsible for making me an extraordinarily happy wolf.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Litha laughed. “Okay. Just as long as it’s for Luna and there’s no selfish motive involved. Later.” And she was gone.

“Liulf. You okay now? Come to the cabin and let Luna have a look at you. She’s marvelous with curing ailments.”

“Uncle?” Liulf let Stalkson Grey help him to his feet.

“Welcome to New Elk Mountain.”

Stalkson Grey was Liulf’s uncle by marriage on his mother’s side. He was Win’s father and also alpha of the part of the Elk Mountain tribe that chose to migrate to the new world in a dimension they were told was called Lunark. Liulf spent the next hour with his uncle’s second mate, Luna, and their twin girls. The beautiful little girls had black hair like their mother and gray eyes like their father. Liulf wasn’t sure about intermarriage with other biped species, but he was certain the lassies were cute as could be.

“So ye like it here?” asked Liulf.

Stalkson confirmed that he and the members of the Elk Mountain Tribe who had chosen to migrate four years before were happy and had no regrets.

“Sorry to hear about Dunegan. I was told he was a good leader. As I know you will be, Liulf,” Grey said as he showed Liulf around the settlement they’d built on a treed hillside next to a lake that was impossibly blue.

Changing the subject, Liulf asked, “What is this ye be wearin’?”

Grey looked down as if he wasn’t sure what he was wearing. “Doeskin pants. You should try them. I got the idea from a demon.”

Liulf scowled. “Demon?”

Stalkson Grey laughed. “Hmmm. Litha’s sire, as a matter of fact. It turns out that we’re not the strangest creatures in the universe. Not by a fathom. Who would have guessed?” Stalkson picked up one of his little girls and gave her a kiss on the cheek while she smiled at Liulf in a way far too fetching and knowing for a three-year-old. “Maybe you’ll meet him. Sometimes he drops by to aggravate me.”

Liulf scoffed. “Aggravate ye? He must have a death wish.”

Grey laughed. “Wouldn’t do him any good. I don’t think he can die.”

Liulf cocked his head. “He’s a real demon? Immortal?”

“The real deal and an incubus. His idea of a good time is telling me he’s going to sex up my daughters someday. One time he started to take his cock out of his pants to show them what they have to look forward to.”

“’Tis different from ours?”

“No. Not really.”

“Well, then it’s nothin’ they have no’ seen, but talkin’ about the wee lassies like that? ‘Tis perverted.”

“It would be if he meant it. You’d have to know him. He just likes to rile people up.”

“Sounds… demonic.”

Stalkson chuckled. “Luna didn’t like it either. She hit him full force with a hot iron fire poker and told him to never come near us again.”

“Has a temper for a human, does she?”

“Hmmm. Didn’t leave a mark though. He laughed at her.” Stalkson grinned at that and motioned for Liulf to walk with him as he started toward the edge of the New Elk Mountain village.

Liulf could tell that Stalkson Grey was pleased with what his tribe had built in the new world. As he showed his nephew around the settlement he engaged various members of the pack with easy conversation and pointed out the various innovations they had devised to make life optimal for werewolves.

“The original colony, New Gaul, is in the south. I chose this land to the west because of the hills, trees, and the lake. I knew my people would be reminded of Coeur d'Alene and feel at home.

“I don’t want to mislead you and say it’s easy. It’s not. It’s a tradeoff. We gave up electricity and engines in favor of living in a place with good air and water and quiet. Best of all, no humans. No guns. The only weapons that are allowed are those that operate with muscle power.” Liulf realized they had circled back to the starting point outside his uncle’s house. Grey cast Liulf a sideways glance. “There’s unoccupied territory to the north that reminds me of the Scotia Highlands. If you’re on a scouting mission, I’ll take you.”

Liulf looked to the left, to the right, and then finally at Grey. “Aye. If it would no’ trouble ye.”

“Well, then.” Grey smiled with a light in his eye that could have been pleasure or could have been pride. “Show me your wolf.”

Liulf’s brows went up in question.

“Except for cart paths, there no roads. No vehicles. Four legged is the fastest way.”

They left their clothes on the porch. In biped form, Liulf was much bigger, but they were about the same size after shifting. Stalkson Grey wasn’t sure if he remembered having ever seen Liulf as a wolf. He thought he’d remember because of the unusual coloring. Like Grey, Liulf was mostly black, but he had the caramel colored eyes that were characteristic of the Cu Ahlee clan.

The two huge black wolves would have made a picture trotting together across the pristine panorama of Lunark Dimension. Going at a steady pace, it took an hour and a half to reach the border of the northern territory.

When the landscape changed to vistas that reminded Liulf of the Highlands, Stalkson Grey led him to a shallow place where they could cross a river by jumping from rock to rock and then climb straight up a grassy mountainside. At the top, Grey shifted to human form and pointed out the territory boundaries from north to east to south to west.

“What’s beyond?” Liulf waved in the direction Grey pointed.

“We’re on a small continent surrounded by water.”

“How small?”

Grey shrugged. “About the size of Briton, I think.”

“Are there other species in this world?”

Grey was silent for a minute. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”

“Just because lycans are no’ seagoin’ creatures does no’ mean that there are no’ others who are. Elves, fae, humans… all seafarers.”

“If there are others, their cultures are still primitive.”

“Primitive as in pre-nuclear submarines or primitive as in pre-sailin’ vessels?”

“New Gaul has been here a long time. If there was a danger, it would come before the Council and we’d discuss it.”

“Council?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. What I’m trying to say here is don’t borrow trouble.” Grey smiled. “When it comes to worry, you seem more like an old woman than a lycan alpha male.”

“Yeah? Well I may be a new alpha, but I’m old enough to know ‘tis ne’er a good idea for wolf people to be gettin’ too comfortable. Somebody is always waitin’ and hopin’ for exactly that.”

“Cynical.”

Liulf shrugged. “I call it managin’ expectations, Uncle.”

“I take your point.” Grey looked at Liulf with a new interest that wasn’t there before. “I hope you join us, Liulf. Maybe the goodness of life here is making us too complacent. We probably need your perspective. If you decide to migrate your pack, we’ll help with the initial building – get you started. The descendants of the first colonists at New Gaul helped us.”

Liulf was aware of the emotion surging in his chest as he imagined what might be. He had thought he loved the Highlands, but that was before he saw the lands that he’d already decided would be named New Scotia. He didn’t want to be rash and make an impulsive decision that would have such far-reaching consequences for his pack, but his uncle had said that Fate had something epic at hand for him to accomplish.

While Liulf was considering, Grey was continuing to feed information. “I suppose I should also mention that things are done a little differently here. But nothing that you and your people won’t get used to.”

Liulf was only half-listening. He was too busy picturing his people hunting, playing, and procreating in the beauty that stretched all around him. After a few beats, he registered what Stalkson Grey had said.

“Differently? How differently?”

“Well, for one thing, we have a Council, like I mentioned before. It meets on the first day of the new moon every month. Each territory is represented by the alpha, two seconds, and two pack elders. All discuss and advise, but only alphas vote.”

“Vote?!?” Liulf was incredulous. “Wolves votin’?” He snorted as if he’d never heard anything so ridiculous.

Stalkson shrugged. “It’s a new world. A paradise for wolves,” he swept his hand out in a wide arc, “and we want to keep it that way. The best way to go about that is to respect the other packs and do the best thing for all the inhabitants of Lunark and the future of the species.” Stalkson Grey put his hands on his naked hips. “I know I made it sound like we’re naïve, but we’re trying to use our heads about this. It’s a perfect place for us, unquestionably ours, every tree, rock, and blade of grass, but that’s not to say that couldn’t change. Others could come here the same way we did. If that ever happens, wolves need to be united… used to working with each other.

“Silver Ruff, alpha of the New Gaul pack, came up with these ideas. And they’re good ones.”

Liulf mulled it over for a moment, processing the possible merit of Stalkson’s argument. “What else?”

Stalkson grinned wolfishly. “We have Powwows.”

Liulf’s brow wrinkled. “What’s a Powwow?”

“Our version is a Gathering, sort of like a big party. It was my idea. Well, to be honest, it was a suggestion made to me back on home world by somebody I met through Black Swan. I suggested it to Silver Ruff and she liked the idea, said it dovetailed nicely with what she was trying to accomplish with the Council. So twice a year, on the Spring and Fall Equinoxes, packs come together in the south for three days. We build big fires, eat, drink, dance, talk, hunt and the unmated wolves get friendly with each other. We encourage intermarriage between packs, not just royalty.”

“Why?”

“Makes the pups stronger. Makes the alliances with other packs stronger.”

“I notice yer mate is human.”

“Yes. But she’s my true mate. A lot of the young wolves in my pack are mated to humans. We had a shortage of females at Elk Mountain and mating with humans meant survival. Some of the pups are full lycan. Some aren’t.” Grey’s gaze pinned Liulf as he said pointedly, “We love them all.”

“Of course. I meant no disrespect. I have nothin’ against humans so long as they’re no’ shootin’ at me.”

“Agreed.” Stalkson Grey slapped Liulf on the back. “If you’re interested in becoming my neighbor, we need to go talk to Silver Ruff out of respect, since her people settled here first.”

Liulf turned in a circle slowly, then nodded. “’Tis… perfect.”

Stalkson Grey seemed pleased. “How many do you think we’re talking about?”

“I do no’ know how many will be choosin’ to come, but there be a few more than five hundred Mahdrah Ahlee in the Highlands.”

Stalkson whistled and looked at Liulf with new admiration. “Had no idea. You know… I’ve been an alpha for a long time. If you ever need to talk, come see me. There are things that… well, that others won’t really understand.”

“Thank ye, Uncle. I will.” Liulf tilted his chin up then shifted to wolf form.

A little less than three hours later, they reached the edge of New Gaul, the original lycan colony. Stalkson shifted and entered a small outbuilding. Liulf shifted and followed him inside.

Stalkson handed Liulf a breech cloth. “I keep a change of clothes here since I visit often. I’d offer a pair of doeskin pants, but they would never make it up your fat thighs.”

Liulf was indignant. “My thighs are no’ fat. They’re muscular.”

Stalkson raised his eyebrows, snorted softly and shook his head. “If you say so.” He smiled to himself, thinking maybe he’d spent too much time with Deliverance. He didn’t know his nephew well enough to know if Liulf had the kind of sense of humor that allowed for teasing.

Liulf tied the breech cloth to his waist and stepped outside. He bent forward pretending to make an adjustment while surreptitiously glancing at his thighs. When a slight breeze rushed past, he concluded that he liked having extra air circulating when weather allowed.

As the two walked toward the center of the settlement, Liulf was able to get a firsthand look at the business of everyday affairs within a mature colony on Lunark. Like stepping into a time machine, it was life much like what he remembered two hundred years in the past. He paid close attention to two things. Having fully recovered from the shock of interdimensional travel, his mind was actively engaged in a fantasy construction of New Scotia. As they had approached the settlement, he’d mentally catalogued the livestock and made a point of noting the expressions people wore on their faces.

The New Gaul wolf people looked at Grey and Liulf with curiosity, but without alarm as they passed. No one stopped or slowed the task at hand to regard them more closely.

It was obvious to Liulf that Stalkson Grey knew where he was headed and it seemed to be the building on the rise at the head of the clearing, but before they reached their destination, they encountered Silver Ruff standing outside the blacksmith’s work shed talking to a small group. She looked over and gave Grey a warm smile of recognition and acknowledgement.

“What brings you, Alpha?” She nodded at the people she’d been talking to and stepped toward Grey. “And who’s this?” She swept her eyes over Liulf. He watched her nostrils flare slightly as she evaluated his scent without being overly impolite.

“This is my nephew, Liulf. He’s alpha of a pack from our world of origin. Would you have time to speak with us today?”

“I always have time for you, Old Dog.” As they started walking toward the building on the rise, she turned her head toward Liulf. “Has Grey shown you around?”

“Aye, madam. ‘Tis a place so beautiful I’ll be pressed to find words to describe it when I return home.”

She nodded as if she was pleased with his answer. “I haven’t heard your way of speaking before. You’re not from, ah, Elk Mountain.”

“No, madam. My mother was sister to Stalkson Grey’s first mate, but I live on the other side of the world from Elk Mountain. My people speak the same language, but better, with a flair for perfection.”

Silver Ruff gave a hearty laugh that made Liulf instantly warm to her. “So tell me, Stalkson Grey. What would you like to talk about?” Of course she knew the purpose of the visit perfectly well, but wanted Grey to name it.

“For much the same reason that my people migrated here, Liulf would like to discuss the possibility of a similar arrangement.”

“I see.”

She said no more until after they entered the lodge-type building that was, apparently, both her home and the headquarters for the New Gaul pack. It was built with a combination of logs and stone that Liulf thought was very attractive in an organic sort of way. She motioned them inside and then yelled at someone.

“New Day! Bring some of that broth for my guests.”

She waved toward some rough-out leather ottomans set around a table made from an enormous tree trunk. When Liulf sat down, he decided that kilts were better than breech cloths after all.

“So, Liulf, is it?”

“Aye, madam.”

“I have two questions. Why do you want to come here? And, what value will you bring?”

Liulf met Silver Ruff’s clear-eyed gaze evenly and without hesitation, which she admired. “My uncle on my father’s side was alpha until very recently. He was shot by a PowerBow…”

Stalkson put his hand up to indicate that he would interrupt. “A PowerBow is a bow that has an advanced mechanism – a tightly coiled automatic spring that operates by trigger. It doesn’t take strength to send arrows great distances at great speed.”

Silver Ruff’s brows knitted as she apparently considered the implications of that.

Liulf continued. “He lived for a short while, but unfortunately, died of the wound. He is no’ the first to fall to… humans and their weapons. I fear that, if we stay where we are, we will either have to try to live without shiftin’, or war with humans. Life would no’ be worth the livin’ if we did the first. And we would no’ survive the second. There are too many.

”My uncle’s last words were an instruction to bring our people here.”

“I can understand that being a powerful motive, much like that of my ancestors who first settled this world. So tell me, if I gave permission for you to occupy a free territory, what could you offer us?”

“Good breedin’.”

“Did I understand you correctly? Did you say good breeding?”

“Aye. I did.”

Silver Ruff’s eyes sparked as she looked at Grey. “Does your nephew insult us? What does he mean, ‘good breeding’?”

Stalkson Grey opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine what could have gotten into Liulf, what he might be thinking, but he was beginning to regret bringing his nephew for an audience with Silver Ruff without knowing him better.

Undaunted by the shift of energy in the room, Liulf forged ahead. “I’m prepared to offer good breedin’ on two counts. First, comin’ into yer village, I noticed ye’re raisin’ a variety of short haired sheep that, forgive me for sayin’ so, look dumb as rocks. In the Highlands where I’m from, we have a sturdy, strong breed of sheep that grow fine wool. It feels like silk, reachin’ almost to the ground when they walk, and weaves into a cloth that cools in summer, heats in winter, and feels beautiful to touch. They also have curly horns and will defend themselves when necessary.”

Liulf paused, but noting that Silver Ruff seemed both placated and interested, he continued. “We also have a lovely breed of chicken. Gray in color. Larger than the ones I saw here, with great talon roosters who would take out a predator’s eyes before allowin’ it near one of his hens.

“If I’m understandin’ the transport process correctly, I believe we could bring enough of these animals with us to propagate for ourselves and other packs as well. Eventually.”

“Interesting proposition. And one I haven’t heard before. What about the second count?”

Liulf glanced at Grey. “My uncle tells me that ye’re encouragin’ marryin’ between packs. We, the Mahdrah Ahlee, would be bringin’ a hale and hardy bunch of randy unmated wolves, both male and female.”

Silver Ruff stared for a few beats and then laughed out loud. Looking at Grey, she said, “I like him, Grey. He’s an original. Not bad looking either.” To Liulf she said, “Do these young singles you speak of resemble you?”

Liulf took on the indecipherable expression of a seasoned politician. “No. Most are ever so much more comely than I. Between myself and two brothers, I’m rumored to be the ugly one.”

Silver Ruff laughed louder, then stopped abruptly to yell, “Day! Where’s that broth?”

After another hour of talk about the problems of alphas on Lunark, Grey and Liulf stepped outside, saying goodbyes and readying to depart. Liulf felt the barest whisper of cloth on his arm as someone passed. That small contact left a scent that had his nostrils flaring and his cock attempting to lift the heavy leather of his breech cloth.

He turned to see who it was just as Silver Ruff was catching her daughter’s arm to stop her from hurrying by without speaking.

“Slow down,” she said. “I want you to meet the head of our next colony. Liulf, this is my daughter, Rain Falling.”

After several failed attempts to get his mouth to open and cooperate with his brain, he found the best he could manage was a single jerk of a nod.

“Hello,” she said, giving him just as little attention as was possible without being so rude that she’d be scolded by her mother, or father, or both. She looked him over quickly, obviously didn’t like what she saw, and with a tiny smile toward her mother, disappeared inside the building from which they’d just come.

Sensing Liulf’s interest, Silver Ruff’s gaze swung to him. “So. You’re unmated yourself, I take it?”

Liulf pulled his attention back to Silver Ruff. “I have no’ had the pleasure of findin’ my true mate.”

“True mate, is it?” Silver Ruff barely contained a smirk. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic, Liulf. Surprising. And quite charming.”

Grey and Liulf deposited the temporary garments in the little building at the edge of the settlement, and shifted. On the journey back to New Elk Mountain all Liulf could think about was Rain Falling. All the lycans in the Highlands had eyes that were either light or caramel-colored like Conn’s. Liulf had never seen anyone with such exotic, nearly black, eyes. She had long hair that looked like richly polished mahogany and lips almost as red as the shift she’d been wearing over her shin-high sheepskin boots.

He ran with his tongue hanging out, partly because of the exertion and partly because of the euphoric excitement of finding her.

CHAPTER 3

Liulf took his second ride through the passes a little better. It still made him dizzy, but at least he didn’t feel nauseous. That night at supper, he sat in front of the winter fire with his brothers around a roughhewn table that had not moved from the small room off the kitchen for centuries.

Ken frowned through most of the meal while Conn looked more and more curious.

“A breech cloth?” Conn smirked.

“Aye. And all the native wolves raised their lip when I passed by because the lasses’ eyes glazed over on seein’ my fine form.”

“Ye know, Liulf, ye’ve always been bossy, but bein’ alpha is makin’ ye a liar as well.”

“If ye want to disprove it, ye’ll have to agree to come to Lunark and see the lands that would be our new home. New Scotia.”

“New Scotia?” Ken asked.

“Have to admit I like the sound of it,” said Conn. “Ye’re serious about this?”

“Aye, little brother. The climate is moderate. The game is plenty. The air and water are clear like they were when we were pups. ‘Tis gorgeous to behold. And ye should see the faces of the people. They’re content.” Liulf paused. “They also have a different way of doin’ thin’s.”

“What do ye mean?” Conn and Ken asked at the same time.

“They have a Council meetin’ between pack leaders every new moon to talk about what’s best for all the wolves. Ye’d both be goin’ with me. And they have Gatherin’s on the Solstices. ‘Tis like a big party, all the packs interact for three days.”

“Interact?” Conn asked as if the concept was inconceivable.

Liulf looked at Conn. “One of the reasons for it is so the unmated wolves can meet each other. They encourage intermarrryin’ between packs. And the numbers of fetchin’ young bitches who’ve ne’er had the pleasure of lickin’ your cock? Well, t’would keep you busy a long time.”

Conn seemed to lapse into a state of fugue with a faraway look in his eyes, like he was living out a fantasy only he could imagine. When his eyes cleared, he surged forward toward his younger brother with a sudden and intense passion. “We’re goin’.”

“Wait a minute.” Ken wasn’t convinced. “What if we go’ there and find we do no’ like it at all?”

Liulf huffed out a breath. If he couldn’t convince his brothers, he stood no chance with the pack. “Maybe ye would no’ like it, Ken. Maybe. But I guarantee that if ye stay here the day will come when ye’ll no’ like it any longer. And it will be soon. What happened to Dunegan, ‘tis goin’ to be happenin’ more and more. Until we’re all gone.”

The room grew so quiet that no sound was heard except for an occasional soft pop or crackle of the fire.

“Aye,” Conn said slowly, looking at Ken. “Liulf is right. ‘Tis no’ just the best choice. ‘Tis the only smart choice. Tell him you’re with him, Ken. He needs believers and we have to be first to raise our hands.”

Ken looked at Liulf. “Aye, Liulf. The Clan Cu Ahlee stick together.”

So with his brothers’ backing, Liulf called a meeting to put his proposal before the pack. There would be one such meeting for the wolves at the outpost of Castle Girnigoe and another for the wolves who resided near Loch Maree. The task was twofold. First, the wolf people had to trust their alpha enough to accept that there was, indeed, another version of reality that was heretofore unknown to them. And that it was better.

Second, was the actual question of who would go and who would stay.

Some spirits are naturally adventuresome. Some are overly cautious. Liulf had managed his own expectations regarding the outcome of his proposition.

The Loch Maree wolves were harder to convince simply because life wasn’t nearly so hard there and, even though there had been several deaths and a recent change of leadership because of being hunted in wolf form, many thought death by humans was an inconsequential risk, too improbable to take too seriously. So it wasn’t a surprise when almost half chose to stay.

The first problem presented by that was that those left behind would need an alpha. The second was that many of those going had been on guard rotation of the eastern coastline. They’d have to be replaced with retirees and some young ones pressed into service for the first time. Unhappiness about that caused some tense moments between the emerging factions of those going and those staying.

Many of those who chose to stay viewed those leaving as disloyal betrayers of the pack. Many of those who chose to leave viewed those staying as disloyal traitors who were violating their duty to follow the lead of their alpha.

Liulf solved the first problem by using his authority to order his father to take up the mantle of alpha that he had passed off centuries earlier, but in doing so he also gave his father permission to appoint a successor if, and only if, someone proved to have attributes of alpha, both innate and practiced.

That settled, the brothers Cu Ahlee undertook coordination of a massive exodus to New Scotia.

Many of the wolf people who were over a hundred years old had acquired preindustrial skills. Their memories negated the pitfalls of trying to reconstruct from research, since critical details are often lost in that process.

Liulf wasted no time putting Ken in charge of the organizing. Stalkson had helped prepare a list that was precious because it included everything Grey wished he had known before his pack migrated. They were going to need builders, masons, weavers, blacksmiths, furniture craftsmen, and people who knew how to cook over an open fire. They would need fishermen, cobblers, tailors, candle makers and soap makers. They would need horticulturists and farmers, people who knew how to grow grains and how to mill flour or cornmeal.

The young, particularly the males, were immediately caught up by the call of adventure and were not afraid of hardship, partly because of their inexperience. Liulf proclaimed that he would take any younger wolf who wanted to go provided that they pledged to learn a needed skill, be a productive part of the community in the new world and not make trouble for their elders.

The older wolves were attracted by the prospect because they could see that they would be valued for their contribution, knowing useful preindustrial skills and remembering the old ways of living.

Liulf inwardly winced when he saw Mave’s name on the manifest of those going. He was tempted to strike her from the list, but knew that it would be an abuse of his power. And that was something Liulf had vowed would never happen, even though he was certain that separating himself from Mave would have provided a welcome resolution, for both of them.

Under Ken’s direction, the framework of organization emerged quickly. He chose a think tank of older pack members to help sort out the details.

They determined that each adult would carry a backpack that could be filled halfway with personal things. The other half was dedicated to carrying items that would be prized on Lunark and could easily be traded for things too big to carry, such as large tools and farm implements.

Liulf had gotten a list from his uncle that included all kinds of medicine including a list of herbs for Luna’s clinic, and medical tools, titanium knives, duct tape, and salt. Lots of salt. Coffee, sugar, and chocolate for the wolves of New Elk Mountain who had migrated from Loti Dimension. He was told that matches or trigger lighters were so highly prized that fights would break out at auction. So Liulf sent people into commercial districts of fae territory to clean out entire store supplies.

They couldn’t fill a library, but made a list of essential books to take including compendiums on medicinal herbery and wildcrafting, MacBeth, Beowulf, a complete collection of Sir Walter Scott, Robbie Burns, and, of course, Bulnairn’s History of Lycan.

The curly-horned Black Faced sheep that Liulf had bragged about to Silver Ruff presented the biggest problem of logistics. Ken picked out fifteen of the biggest males and tasked them with carrying one each across their shoulders. It would be enough for a starter herd. The sheep would be heavy, but sedated, so that, at least, they wouldn’t struggle en route. The Scots Gray chickens would be a little easier. He planned to have several dozen young pups carry one each in a backpack. It would be just the right amount of weight for young ones and would make them feel like they played a part in an event that would be monumental. The six roosters would have to be sedated or they would claw their way through both the backpack and the young ones carrying them. So they planned for veterinary pharmaceuticals also.

Liulf had discussed the arrival of the livestock with his uncle, who was enormously helpful with anticipating their needs. There was no chicken wire available, but Grey secured what the other packs were using to hold chickens – heavy fishnets strung taut over and around the free range portion of the enclosures. They planned for five, one per rooster, with a covered three-sided shed and shelves that would do for roosts. In exchange for the help, Grey’s pack would get one of the roosters and eight hens. If they refrained from eating chicken, the numbers would grow fast.

The supply list included four backpacks full of ancient seed corn, the kind that will propagate naturally, a pack with seeds for a future apple orchard, and thirty packs of potatoes for planting. Conn shared that one of his ne’er-do-well friends had come up with a way to break a still down into small enough pieces that it could be stowed in a hiker’s back pack and reassembled in the new world.

Liulf quipped, “Well, it seems Cairlan is good for somethin’ after all.”

The new alpha would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that everything about the process was exciting. The Mahdrah Ahlee weren’t just embarking on an adventure. They were creating a new world. And, for a time, the emptiness he’d learned to live with was overshadowed by the enormity of moving hundreds of wolf people to a world they’d never seen, but had committed to solely because of their trust in him. The responsibility for that was humbling, with the potential to be crushing if he stopped for long to think about it.

Liulf had returned to Lunark three times for the purpose of planning and asking questions. In his wolf form he had covered every bit of the territory that was to be New Scotia. He’d seen red deer bucks and caribou so fat they made his mouth water. He’d come across a small pack of wild wolves who were curious about him, but one warning snarl sent them ducking and scurrying with tails tucked, deciding he was definitely not worth a closer look. The wolves looked good, which meant New Scotia was more than promising. If it was good for wild wolves, it would be good for werewolves. But they’d need to watch their sheep and chickens. Carefully.

In his exploration he’d found the perfect spot for the settlement. It was a green, treed valley protected from north winds by the hills surrounding it, next to a river running fast enough to provide clean water, but not so fast as to be a constant danger to the pack’s young. There was room in the valley to grow things: plants, animals and the future of the Mahdrah Ahlee.

There are two diametrically opposed points of view employed in choosing a place to build. If you’re expecting trouble, you want the highest vantage point so that you can see an enemy approaching from far away and because it’s easiest to defend. On the other hand, if what you’re expecting is peace and prosperity, you would choose the valley floor with its fertile land near water – the place of greatest comfort and ease of living, but also the most vulnerable to attack. Liulf had decided to trust his uncle’s judgment that they were safe and give his people a chance at real happiness.

He didn’t know what he would have done without Grey’s help. Together they put everything in place so that the transition would go as easily and quickly as possible.

Litha pressed both her friend, Kellareal the angel, and her father, Deliverance the incubus, into service so that they could move nearly three hundred werewolves through the passes as quickly as possible. Still, it took two weeks of dedicated work to move the Mahdrah Ahlee pack. At least Kellareal and Litha were dedicated. Deliverance stopped frequently and disappeared for “fuel” breaks.

As he’d promised, Grey’s people helped them set up temporary shelter, which was a favor beyond repayment since they were arriving in the cold of winter.

On behalf of New Gaul, Silver Ruff had sent the best gift of all. The wolf people who had settled Lunark thousands of years before had, with centuries of patience, domesticated the indigenous bison for use as draft and plow animals. Unlike horses, the bison were too dumb to be afraid of werewolves. Silver Ruff had sent a score of the inordinately helpful creatures along with wooden wheel wagons and carts.

As the building and planning process was fully underway, pack morale was enthusiastic. Everyone in the pack ended the day exhausted – adults from working, young from playing, but when they fell on straw-stuffed beds with sore bodies, they breathed contented sighs, satisfied with the way they’d spent the day.

Liulf had put Ken to work on a rotation that allowed everyone one day of the week to run or hunt in wolf form and one day to spend leisurely with families.

Even with all the activity, two or three times a week Mave would seek Liulf out and renew her pursuit. They would replay the same exchange that had been enacted thousands of times. But since Liulf had encountered Rain Falling, he was finding it even more difficult to deal with Mave and was wondering if, perhaps, she was touched in the head. He found himself clenching his teeth whenever he caught sight of her and wished, for both of their sakes, that he had taken the low road and refused to bring her to the new world. The impatience and rudeness of the dialogue was ratcheted up until Liulf didn’t know what else he might do short of sinking his fangs into her neck and giving a mighty yank to separate tissue from bone.

One morning he left his lean-to to make his way through the various projects.

Cairlan’s mother was showing some pups how to weave river reeds for a wide range of utilitarian purposes. She looked up at Liulf as he passed, and smiled.

“How do ye like life here, Bridsail?” he asked.

“Fine, Alpha, but I will say ‘tis a good thin’ I remember how to make candles.”

That noon Silver Ruff arrived for a visit to the burgeoning settlement with a contingent of six wagons drawn by bison, each laden with food or other supplies that would be needed to sustain the new colony until they could manage on their own. Liulf greeted her and was about to thank her when he saw that the alpha’s daughter, Rain Falling, was driving the next wagon. Liulf seemed to forget everything except watching her jump down.

Seeing his brother’s reaction, Conn smiled and stepped forward to introduce himself to Silver Ruff.

“Sorry. My brother seems to be tongue-tied. An unfortunate condition which sometimes happens in the most inopportune circumstances. I’m Connuchur Cu Ahlee, who would be happy to have ye call me Conn.”

Silver Ruff wasn’t offended in the least. She was well aware that Liulf’s behavior didn’t reflect either bad manners or disrespect. “Thank you, Conn. I’ve come to meet the new neighbors with welcome wagons. I think that’s what Grey told me they were called in your world of origin.”

“Welcome wagons. Aye. As they should be called. We’ll be sayin’ we’re so very thankful for the wagonloads of good thin’s and then ye’ll be sayin’, ‘Ye’re welcome.’”

Silver Ruff chuckled at Conn’s good humor and confident manner. Females of all ages seemed to have that reaction to him and, Silver Ruff noted, Rain Falling was no exception.

When Liulf managed to recover his speech, he showed the New Gaul alpha around, acquainted her with his vision for the colony, and answered her questions in between sneaking glances at Rain, who was always looking at something or someone else.

The New Gaul visitors stayed overnight and were entertained by stories of what it was like to travel between dimensions and what it was like to confront the reality of giving up all modern conveniences. The guests couldn’t really relate to the last part since none of them had ever experienced the marvels of the technological age, but they seemed captivated by the speech and dress of the new arrivals, not to mention the novelty of blondes and redheads.

The next afternoon Liulf was working side by side with Conn, erecting a three-sided, open-air distribution center from which they could make sure every family was provisioned. As he drove his hammer into each nail with a vengeance, he reproached himself again and again for being a celebrated warrior too cowardly to approach Rain and speak to her. He told himself that it would be different if she’d given him any encouragement.

As if Conn could hear his thoughts, he turned to Liulf with a gleam of mischief. “Silver Ruff’s daughter is cute. Think I’ll mount the wee bitch princess first chance I get.”

Liulf launched himself at Conn with such an explosion of power that it startled the middle triplet into scrambling back, stumbling, and, finally, landing on his ass. Liulf’s growl had been loud enough to alarm the entire village. While he scrambled to get a hold of Conn’s clothes and pull him up from the dirt so that he could punch him in the face, Conn started laughing hard enough to squirt tears from his eyes. With the dawning understanding that he’d been baited by one of Conn’s jokes, Liulf let go of his brother’s shirt with a shake of the head.

“Funny, Connuchur.” Liulf’s teeth were bared, but he wasn’t amused. He took a step back. “But stay away. She’s mine.”

“Aye, Liulf, very well. But when are ye plannin’ on telling her?” Liulf was silent. “She’s young, brother. Only fifty. It might be a long time before she’s knowin’ her own mind.”

Liulf simply picked up his hammer, slipped it into his tool belt and walked away without looking back.

Once a week, Liulf found an excuse to go to New Gaul. Cutting across part of New Elk Mountain, it took two hours to get there in wolf form, which meant that the combined visit and roundtrip took a whole day.

He kept a set of clothes in the shed at the edge of the village that was used for that purpose. None of the New Gaul wolves had ever seen a kilt before. At first they’d laughed, until they realized that the females were not laughing, but admiring the look of it.

He would stop and dress, then stride into town wearing a black long sleeved Henley that hugged his muscular chest and massive shoulders and clung to the ridges of his torso. Beneath that he wore a kilt made from the dress version of Mahdrah Ahlee’s three tartans. It was royal blue and black with cross threads of white and yellow, and the best pair of boots he’d brought with him. He hoped to impress Rain Falling, but he rarely even caught sight of her and never had a chance to speak with her.

Silver Ruff was acutely aware that Liulf was attempting a lycan version of courtship. The alpha wouldn’t presume to encourage her daughter’s inclination, because interfering with mating would have been unthinkable, but she didn’t discourage it either. She’d grown to like the Highlands alpha. He was strong, sure, and didn’t feel like he needed to fill the air with unnecessary talk. If Rain chose Liulf, her mother would be pleased and think her daughter couldn’t do better. Secretly Silver Ruff suspected that Liulf might be supreme alpha of all of them. If alliances were ever strained, she’d rather be related to him than put that to a test.

On one such outing, Mave decided to follow Liulf. A few miles from the settlement, he lost patience with it. When he turned and growled, she didn’t take the hint. Less able to control his temper when he was in wolf form, he responded by chasing her down and giving her a bite on the shank that surprised more than hurt her. Still, it made her wolf shriek and run back to the settlement, which was understandable. No wolf with any sense would push Liulf until the hair stood up on his ruff. A snarling alpha with his fur blown to make himself appear even larger was a truly scary sight.

Unfortunately, Rain’s disappearance when Liulf came to visit was not accidental. She knew her mother liked him, but she found him huge, tense, and humorless. Plus, the unblinking way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. He talked funny, wore funny clothes, and she’d never once seen him smile. His younger brother, on the other hand, never failed to make her heart beat faster. Conn’s caramel-eyed beauty and knowing grin had provided her with endless fantasies involving private romps in the woods.

CHAPTER 4

The Spring Equinox Gathering of the Lunark Dimension packs was just two and a half months after arrival. It had been a joyous ten weeks, but it had been grueling as well, so the wolves were looking forward to their next adventure.

Some of the pack traveled in wagons with supplies to make camp for three nights while others trotted along in wolf form with grins on their faces.

The site of the Gathering was a valley near the New Gaul settlement. The Council had selected a number of wolves to serve as security for the event and Ken was among them.

Rain Falling couldn’t hide from Liulf at a Gathering like she could at home. To her dismay, it seemed that, wherever she went, he was there, too. She couldn’t deny that he had a magnificent body, but she continued to shy away from the intensity she felt when he looked her way.

Unknowingly, Liulf was sabotaging his chance with behavior that Rain found odd and out of character for a wolf. He never tried to talk, but was always nearby. Staring. Which made her want to run. He wasn’t entirely unattractive. She knew that. His features were well-proportioned and, in fact, it was clear that some of the bitches found him desirable, judging from their attempts to get his attention. But his face was hard in a way that, she thought, hinted of meanness.

Since Mave watched Liulf the way that Liulf watched Rain, it didn’t take long for her to realize that Liulf had set his sights on Silver Ruff’s daughter.

The first day the Mahdrah Ahlee were standoffish, having never before been in a social situation with wolves outside their own pack. Most simply watched, silently. But when the big fires were lit at nightfall the mood in the camp changed and the stress of uncertainty eased. The combination of biped and beast in werewolves created a love-hate relationship with fire, but in a strange way, the proximity of flames that rose high and roared created a sense of danger that served to excite the beast part of their nature.

Liulf had met the other leaders at New Moon Council and had come to accept that the new way was a good way. So the Mahdrah Ahlee accepted their alpha’s judgment and slowly began to follow his example. By the second day, New Scotia wolves were mingling with wolves from New Elk Mountain and New Gaul.

While some of the single females made it plain they wanted Liulf, all of the single females wanted Conn. He was devilishly good-looking, sexier than a wolf had a right to be, with a sardonic smile that said, “I know where all the buttons are and just how to make them dance for me.” The females who got a turn with Conn quickly found that he liked fucking in wolf form. In fact, he insisted on it, which was good for him - no chance of having to deal with after-coitus emotions or affection.

Most of his conquests went away feeling disappointed, to say the least. Oddly enough, no one ever believed those who had been with him even though they tried to warn of impending disappointment. So he was able to continue his plunder and pillage approach to sex with she-wolves unchecked.

Werewolves had no qualms about nudity and many felt comfortable with public sex as well, in both wolf and biped form. In general, mated or not, most found that witnessing coitus was stimulating. Liulf learned that it was particularly discomfiting to have Rain in his line of vision while fucking could also be detected in his periphery.

Finally, spurred by such an uncomfortable incident, Liulf made up his mind that he would talk to Rain.

Wolves from the three packs who had similar interests seemed to find each other and congregate for exchanging tricks, tips and amusing stories. Weavers were discussing the best materials for building looms. Hunters were discussing various results of arrow flight depending on what feathers were used for balance. Farmers were discussing the best means for collection and storage of bison manure for use as fertilizer. And young she-wolves were discussing unmated wolves.

The last was what occupied Rain’s attention when Liulf came up behind her. She could see from the change of expressions on her friends’ faces and the direction of their eyes that someone was standing at her back. Someone taller.

“We’ll see you later, Rain.”

The girls departed quickly with giggles that Rain suddenly found immature and embarrassing.

She wasn’t entirely surprised to find Liulf when she turned around. She’d always known the day would come when he’d try to engage her in conversation.  “Hello, Liulf.”

He cleared his throat. “Rain Falling. I thought maybe ye’d like to walk with me a bit.”

Rain screwed up her face and resolved that the best thing was to put them both out of their misery quickly. “Thank you, Liulf. I’m flattered, but I think the kindest thing would be to tell you honestly that I’m not interested in you. At all.”

Liulf looked at her like he was confused by that. After all, he had a lot to offer a mate. He was alpha of the largest pack in the entire known world. Or worlds. There was no question that he could protect her and surely no one would question that his progeny would be healthy.

“Why?”

Rain shifted her weight to one leg, feeling like the conversation was growing tedious, although she did recognize on some level that it took some impressive self-esteem to hang around and demand reasons. Really, she’d wanted to keep it simple and have Liulf move on to something or someone else.

“I’d rather not be hurtful, Liulf, but if you’re going to press, you leave me no choice. As far as I can see, you’re no fun. I have never even seen you smile. Not once. Which is just weird for a wolf. You know? Whoever heard of a wolf who doesn’t smile? Ever. I’m not the right one for you. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

Liulf was a little stunned and was regretting the decision to force himself to talk to her. Somehow he’d imagined it going better. It didn’t escape his attention that he’d said similar things to Mave over the past three hundred plus years. He thought he might have to rethink his certainty that true matings couldn’t be one-sided.

From the other side of a bonfire, Conn had witnessed Rain talking to Liulf. He’d seen her walk away without his older brother. He set the female he’d been kissing aside and walked to where his brother still stood unmoving. “What did she say, brother?”

“That I’m no’ fun.”

Conn sighed. “I knew she was young, but I did no’ realize she was yet an infant. Come. Let’s go get some of Cairn’s gut burner.”

Liulf allowed Conn to pull him away toward a jar that contained a night’s forgetfulness.

The next morning Liulf woke on the ground, covered in morning dew with his head pounding in a way that could only be caused by the worst alcohol he’d ever consumed. After soaking his head in the cold stream that ran by the encampment, he sought out Luna for a quick remedy.

“Hangover, Alpha? Seriously?” she laughed. “You seem above that sort of thing.”

Liulf snapped at her. “Are ye sayin’ I’m no’ fun?”

Luna pulled back and grew serious. “Of course not, but Liulf. This is the best thing I could ever do for you. Don’t ever let my mate hear you speak to me like that. He really wouldn’t like it.”

Liulf hung his head. “Nor should he. Accept my apology. My ire is no’ meant for ye.”

Luna looked sympathetic. “Then what is it? I’m good at secrets. Would be between you and me and no other.”

“No other?”

Luna drew an X across her breast over where her heart would be. Not knowing what the gesture meant, Liulf looked at her intently and seemed to come to a conclusion. “I believed I found my true mate, almost a season ago. Last night I tried to speak with her. Finally. She wants nothin’ to do with me. Says I’m no’ fun.”

Luna sat down. “Someone from your pack?”

“No.”

“I see.” Luna looked away for a moment. “Do you know how your uncle and I got together?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She smiled. “I was a healer on another world. Not this one. Not the one you came from. Stalkson was readying his pack to migrate here. My… facility was run by the demon’s auntie. He, Deliverance, stopped by to perform a, um, service for us and had Stalkson with him. He saw me and was sure I was the one. So he took me.”

Liulf’s eyebrows went up. “Took you?”

“Yes! I called it a kidnapping.” She smiled like she was thoroughly enjoying the retelling. “He called it a romantic abduction. He threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and demanded that the demon transport the both of us interdimensionally. Without my agreement.”

“He just took you?” Liulf felt the strangeness of a smile coming. The idea of his uncle resorting to kidnapping… well, it was just juicy.

“I know it’s shocking, but the only thing about it that scared me was going between dimensions. I was never afraid of the big, bad wolf. Well, except for when he shifted to wolf form to prove to me that werewolves are real.” She looked serious. “Now I’m not recommending you grab her and run away. Exactly,” she hedged. “But if you’re positive it’s a true mating…”

“I do no’ think that’s the best way to proceed with this particular situation. For one thin’, her mother is alpha of the first colony. I suspect that would be the quickest way to unravel all the progress that’s been made with the idea of werewolf solidarity.

“I do no’ know how I will be proceedin’, but I have found this talk very amusin’. Thank ye for the tale and for reshapin’ my head to normal size. Ye’re alright for a human.”

Luna smiled warmly and patted Liulf on the shoulder. “You’re welcome. Get your brother to help you with your approach to complimenting women.”

“Conn?”

She just gave him a look. “Yes. Of course Conn. So far as I can see, Ken is too preoccupied with inventing better ways of doing things to be concerned with flattering females.”

“Aye. Seems with few words ye’ve pegged the brothers Cu Ahlee.”

Liulf was called over to a discussion by some of the pack elders, who regularly attended Council meetings to discuss the question of free passage between territories with a clause withholding hunting privileges. As the argument wound down he noticed Rain walking off toward the forest alone.

Naturally he followed, not to stalk her, but more because she seemed to be a living magnet that pulled him along helplessly. Seeing Liulf headed away from camp, Conn decided to join him, eager to report on his Gathering conquests and gossip about his favorite subject, females. He was oblivious to the fact that Liulf was following Rain and also to the fact that Liulf was half listening as they ambled.

The Gathering had been located by a shallow running stream that was picturesque and sufficient to function as fresh water supply for a large encampment. It served that purpose well, but had nothing to offer in the way of swimming or bathing.

Since the Gathering was being held in Rain’s home territory of New Gaul, she knew the camp stream was a small tributary of a river on the other side of a pine and sweet gum forest. It was easy to keep her in sight because she was wearing the red shift she’d had on the first day Liulf had seen her.

Conn didn’t stop talking when he stopped to relieve himself on some old tree roots, but Liulf kept walking.

Rain knew exactly where to find the path through the trees with the deep river on the other side and, as she drew closer to the water, the trees thinned out to a park-like setting lined by a dense growth of thicket on one side. There were flat rocks at the water’s edge where she could wade in and get used to the cold temperature before immersing herself. She decided her shift could stand a rinse, too, so she removed her boots, but kept the dress on. She was shin deep in cool water and happy to be away from the noise and activity of so many packs together at once, when she heard a short high-pitched bray behind her in the direction of the trees.

She looked toward the forest edge in time to see two curious and playful bear cubs racing out of the thicket underbrush on legs just learning to run. They were headed straight toward where she stood in the river shallows and she was too fascinated to do anything but watch, her own curiosity engaged. By the time she registered the meaning of the sound of crashing in the thicket and the hair-raising growl of a worried mama bear, there was an enormous grizzly charging straight at her, only fifty feet away.

Maybe if the bear had been sixty feet away, her biped flight response would have kicked in. Certainly, if she’d been in wolf form, her survival instinct would have overridden her fear because, on four legs, she could run circles around the bear and laugh. But fate comes with good days, bad days, and days that can’t be judged either for years to come.

Rain was frozen in place, transfixed by the sight of six hundred pounds of furious grizzly coming straight for her.

As soon as the healthy bear cubs had emerged from one of the clumps of underbrush running toward Rain, Liulf had known what would happen next. There would be a protective mother close behind. He’d begun sprinting toward Rain as hard as he could, trying to shift as he ran. He yelled for her. “Rain! Run!” His voice was deeper and more gravelly because he was in mid-shift. She heard Liulf’s call and somehow knew it was him. She understood the command. She wanted to comply. She knew she needed to force her feet to move, but her eyes were locked on the advancing bear and she couldn’t look away. She was still as a stone statue and just as pale.

Seeing the terror on her face caused everything inside Liulf to roar in protest. He shifted and caught up with the bear’s lumbering jog just before she reached the water’s edge. He launched himself hard and sailed through the air. He landed on her back snarling and, instinctively, trying to bite the tendons above her shoulder blades at the base of the neck. The bear stopped and momentarily went still from the shock, but quickly reacted with a bellow so loud it vibrated through Rain’s body. The interruption got Rain’s brain functioning again and released her from her stupor. She began screaming for help without knowing if she could be heard all the way back at the Gathering camp.

Conn had heard his brother yell a frantic warning to Rain Falling and wasn’t far behind, but he got momentarily tangled in the sleeves of his hemp shirt when he shifted. He struggled frantically against the accidental binding made by his clothes. When he freed himself, he ran in the direction of the screaming until the trees opened so that he could see. The bear let out an enraged bray of protest, then, as Conn watched in horror, she gave a mighty shake of her massive shoulders and upper body, dislodging Liulf. He twisted as he hit the ground, scrambling to get to his feet, but she caught him with a mighty sweep of her paw and threw him against a tree trunk as she rose to her hind legs. She extended her neck, damaged and bleeding, and roared in his face as he slumped to the ground. The big wolf had pulled away some tendons between her shoulder blades so that she was holding her head at a strange angle.

Liulf had heard cracking on impact with the tree and knew that it was bone and not branch. But the only thing that seemed important at the moment was trying to get back the breath that had been sent gushing from his lungs. He lay immobile seeing only blackness with flashes of red, without breath, as if his body was in such a state of shock it had forgotten how to inhale. Unable to breathe, unable to move, when his vision began to clear, he wished he had also lost his ability to see. The grizzly was poised over him. She raised a set of black claws that looked like daggers and slashed down hard across his abdomen, opening four evenly spaced gashes across the width of him.

Conn ran straight for the bear’s tail and gave her a sound bite on the left buttock, crunching through fur to make contact with muscle. He only had a second to use the leverage of his comparably slight body weight to tear back and forth and she squealed in outrage. The bear had raised her giant paw to strike at Liulf again, but was stopped by the surprise attack from the rear. She whirled, going down on four legs, and shook her head at Conn. She jumped up and down twice on her front paws to warn the second wolf off, but Conn continued circling, running in for a nip, then dodging out of the way of her deadly reach, trying to keep her distracted from Liulf until help could arrive from the rest of the pack. Given the way Rain was screaming, that couldn’t be much longer.

First to arrive on the scene were five wolves who had shifted. They didn’t hesitate to assess the situation or plan strategy or to weigh the risk to themselves. In a dance as old as the race, they circled the bear and busied themselves taking turns as they parried, keeping her attention on them and away from Liulf as they drew her further and further away from where his body lay slumped at the base of an ancient hemlock. In another three minutes the hunters, who had kept their biped form, arrived with bows and arrows.

The wolves broke away to give the hunters a clear shot.

At some point Liulf’s burning lungs relented and allowed him to take in air, but the pressing need to breathe was immediately replaced with enough pain to make him wish for death. He knew Conn had drawn the bear’s attention, but even though he was terrified for his brother, he hadn’t been able to call out to Conn and tell him to run. He couldn’t even make himself stay awake. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he became aware that the pack was taking the bear down. His eyes slid in the direction of the battle as the grizzly was being riddled with arrows. So many arrows. She went down with a great thunk and huffed, her hot breath blowing the stems of newly sprouting wildflowers.

Somewhere behind him, in the midst of all the commotion, Liulf’s sensitive ears heard the cubs’ soft whining.

A shadow fell over Liulf. At first he thought it was the bear returned to finish him off, but then he heard Rain’s voice. When he’d involuntarily shifted to biped form, his long hair had ended up half covering his face. She gently pushed the strands away and had the absent thought that it was strange that such a hard, hard wolf had such soft and silky hair.

“I’m here, Liulf. What can I do?”

As she knelt beside him she heard an alarming squish where her knees depressed the earth. She looked down at the wet area next to the tears in his abdomen and realized how much blood had left his body. Her hands fluttered helplessly above his ruined body. She wanted to give him comfort and was afraid that touching him could do more harm than good.

Liulf’s eyes, barely open, focused on her, his face contorted in a mask of pain, his breathing labored, but he was trying to say something. Using the arm that wasn’t pinned under his body, he caught her wrist and gripped it tight enough to make her wince. She leaned down, putting her ear near his mouth.

“Tell them no’ to kill her.” She pulled back to look in his face.

“Kill her?” Rain’s brow knitted in the middle, while trying to discern what he might mean. Her first thought was that he was hallucinating, thinking she was still in danger. Then suddenly she understood him. “You mean the bear. You don’t want them to kill the bear.”

For the rest of her life, Rain Falling would recall the precise moment when the film lifted from her eyes, the moment when she had seen Liulf truly. She was awed by his willingness to give himself up for someone who had treated him badly, but more than that, she was amazed that his mind was focused on protecting the very bear that may have killed or crippled him. She knew that she’d badly misjudged the Highlands alpha.

Looking over her shoulder she saw that it was too late to pass on the alpha’s command. The great female grizzly was dead. Rain swung her head back toward Liulf, not knowing what she’d say, but it didn’t matter. He’d slipped into unconsciousness. Her heart broke to see his magnificent naked form lying bloody, dirty, broken and torn, because he’d rushed in to save her.

When she felt hands on her shoulders, urging her away, Rain’s own tears were flowing as fast as Liulf’s blood was leaving his body. She resisted leaving Liulf.

“Rain Falling, let us look at him.”

She rose and backed away a couple of feet, but continued to stand close by. She could tell by the way the experienced hunters looked at Connuchur that they didn’t believe Liulf would live. Two of the wolves were sent back to let everyone, particularly the New Scotia pack, know that the Highlander alpha was wounded, perhaps mortally.

Luna always brought a wide range of supplies for healing when she came to Gatherings and welcomed wolves from all the packs to consult with her. Word had quickly spread that she was a talented physician so, logically, the wolves ran straight to her for help. She was peering into the mouth of a little boy, when they arrived shifting to biped form and speaking hurriedly.

Once she understood, she gathered all the supplies she thought she might need into a large woven bag with handles. A few wolves had gathered outside her tent. She stopped to give them instructions.

Turning to one of the humans, she said, “Watch my girls for me?”

“Of course, Luna.” The woman took the twins by their hands.

Speaking to one of the Elk Mountain she-wolves, she said, “Find Stalkson Grey and tell him to make a stretcher for Liulf and bring fresh clean blankets. He’ll need to be carried and not pulled in a wagon.”

The bag of supplies was too heavy for her to carry and run at the same time. So she handed it to one of the wolves who had come for her. “Will you carry this?”

He nodded as he took the bag. “This way.”

Luna was young and strong and ran as fast as she could, but it took ten minutes and she was badly winded when she arrived. She sank down next to Liulf and heaved for breath as she looked him over. She hadn’t known him long, but she had such a tender heart that she couldn’t keep her eyes from stinging when she saw the mess the bear had made of him.

She pulled back an eyelid and murmured to no one that he was in a coma. A part of her thought that was just as well given the extent of his injuries. Using a combination of the few precious supplies brought over from Loti Dimension and the herb remedies she had wildcrafted on Lunark, she got the wounds as clean as possible. She couldn’t check him over completely without turning him so that he was flat on the ground.

Looking at a devastated Conn, she said, “Come around here and try to keep everything as immobile as possible while we lay him on his back.” With the help of three wolves they moved Liulf so that Luna could have better access. She held his head, giving instructions and saying again and again, “Carefully. Gently. Slowly.”

She found that his right humerus had broken where it had impacted the tree trunk with more force than she cared to think about, but she needed to give a priority to the gashes.

She looked up at the hunters who had become spectators. “Send someone back for a soft sheepskin, and a bison hide. And a spool of strong twine.” One of the males departed quickly, shifting as he went.

The wolves who had never seen a trigger lighter before watched in fascination as she clicked and fired the end of a needle for sterilization. She poured disinfectant over her hands, then threaded the blackened needle. She used a suture made of bison tendons, which would serve as dissolvable.

She set about cleaning the wounds, getting them ready to be stitched up before they attracted bacteria and infection, something the first colony werewolves knew nothing about. She wiped at her brow with the sleeve of her shift as she was finishing, when she heard her mate’s voice.

“We’ve brought your stretcher and people to carry it, Luna. Tell us what you need.” Grey sounded bereft, no doubt due to having seen Liulf’s condition.

She looked up. “We’re going to need to sit him up so that I can swab the dirt away from his arm and back, where the skin was scraped away. Then we’ll spread one of the clean blankets over that stretcher.” She nodded toward the limb and leather portable bed. “I’ll set his arm before we go back.” She looked down at Liulf. “I forgot to ask for some of that alcohol he was drinking last night.”

“Alcohol?” Grey’s brow wrinkled as he looked around at the other wolves. When his gaze passed over Connuchur, he saw that one of his other three nephews looked too sheepish to be innocent. “Well?”

“Well, a friend of mine knows how to cook the lightnin’. It does no’ taste good, but it does the job.”

“The job?” Grey scowled. He’d never been a fan of drunkenness. “What’s his name?”

“Cairn.” Conn looked miserable.

“Does one of you know where to find this Cairn?”

By that time Ken had arrived. “Aye, Uncle. I know where to find the lad.”

“Go tell him that my wife needs some of this ‘lightning’ for his alpha.”

Ken nodded and started to leave, but when he turned he saw that most of the New Scotia pack had made their way there, having heard about the accident. So he lifted his voice. “Is Cairn among ye?

The spectators looked around, shaking their heads. “Send the fastest wolf to bring Cairn and his special spirit for Liulf.”

“Aye, Cenead.” One of Ken’s boyhood friends responded.

When he turned back, Ken’s eyes met Conn’s and they spoke volumes to each other without saying a word.

On Luna’s signal, Liulf’s brothers raised him up, bending him at the waist into a sitting position so that she could clean his scrapes and abrasions and then helped lay him on the makeshift stretcher. It was covered by a stretch of Mahdral Ahlee hunting tartan which, Luna was assured, was newly washed.

She then called for the sheepskin and twine. She took a sharp knife from her woven bag and handed it to Conn. “I need the sheepskin cut like so and two pieces of the untanned hide about yea so.” She held up her hands forming a rectangular shape to let the patient’s brother know what was required.

Ken and Conn were glad to have something to do for their brother. Cutting skins to Luna’s specifications made them feel a little less helpless. So Ken held while Conn cut with the knife.

Luna was constantly checking Liulf’s heart rate and breathing, not that there was much she could do to improve either. She felt Grey’s hand grasp her shoulder and looked up into his face, grateful for the gesture of support.

They heard some commotion in the crowd. Grey turned and found a sheep’s bladder shoved toward him. It was full and tied at the neck.

“I’m Cairn. This is for Liulf.”

Grey took the vessel and showed it to Luna. “We have it. What do you want us to do with it?”

“Hold on to it for now.” Conn held up the pieces Luna had asked for. She nodded her approval. “Take the two pieces of hide to the river and get them wet.” Conn looked dubious, but wasn’t going to argue.

“Ken, when I lift his arm put the sheepskin underneath, wool side up next to his skin.” Ken nodded. With what was obviously great effort on her part, Luna lifted Liulf’s heavy arm like it was made of glass and gently placed it down on the sheepskin. “I’m going to set his broken arm.”

She looked at Gray. “You need to sit by his head. The pain may wake him. If it does, give him some of that.” Her eyes indicated the bladder of Cairn’s recipe. Gray nodded and got into position

After gingerly feeling around Liulf’s arm for what seemed like a long time, she grabbed on, her fingers digging into the flesh, and used her weight to push at an angle. Liulf’s eyes flew open and he yelled out, but as soon as he did Conn was holding his head with one hand, trying to give him liquid pain relief with the other. Liulf was thrashing about and nothing was being accomplished except for spilling the alcohol, which ran down into the stitches and added burning and stinging to Liulf’s misery.

“Rain,” Luna said, sounding irritated, “tell him you’re here and everything is going to be alright”

Rain’s red-rimmed eyes flew to Luna and her lips parted. She was surprised to be acknowledged by the human she’d never met before, but after a moment’s hesitation, she dropped down beside Grey. “I’m here, Liulf. I’m here.” She took his good hand and he immediately quieted, his wild eyes frantically seeking then finding hers. “The Elk Mountain queen is caring for you and everything is going to be well. You are going to be well.” She squeezed his hand and his body relaxed. Within seconds he had fallen once again into a comatose state.

While Ken held Liulf’s sheepskin-covered arm immobile, Luna wrapped the two pieces of wet hide around the sheepskin, allowing some overlap, and gave Conn instructions on securing them with twine. When she finished, she sat back on her knees and once again wiped her brow with her sleeve.

Looking at Liulf’s brothers, she said, “ When the bison hide dries it will be stiff as a board, and depending on how it was tanned, it may shrink as well. If it does, we’ll have to apply new twine to keep the two pieces securely in place.

Grey offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. Putting his mouth next to her ear he said, “You were amazing, Luna.”

She buried her face in Grey’s neck and said, “I don’t know if he can make it, Wolf. We may not know for a while.”

“Whatever happens, we’re all lucky that you’re my mate.” He tightened his arms around her and she gave herself permission to relax into his shoulder for a moment.

“We need to pick out some strong guys to carry him back. He’s got to be steady. No jostling around.”

Grey looked at Liulf’s brothers. “I know who three of us will be.”

The New Scotia blacksmith, son of one of the pack elders, came forward and asked for the privilege of being the fourth to carry the alpha back to camp.

CHAPTER 5

Rain surprised everyone by insisting that the bear cubs be caught and brought back to the encampment. They were put in a wooden crate and hauled back in a wagon, braying for their mother the entire way. Luna walked right up to the crate, opened it, gathered up one of the cubs and put him over her shoulder. He snuggled into her comfort for a minute, then promptly nipped her earlobe. She slapped his nose and told him, “No!” He whined, but put his neck over her shoulder and settled down, exhausted, letting his baby eyes slowly drift closes.

That night there was a great argument between the Elk Mountain alpha and his mate about whether or not they would be adopting bear cubs. Grey insisted that, in the very near future, it would not be safe for their girls or the pack. Luna promised that, as soon as the cubs were big enough to survive on their own, she would release them. Grey won the debate, but acquiesced in the end because he found himself utterly incapable of saying no to Luna when she really wanted something.

Rain had been in charge of organizing the Gatherings for a decade. In the past few years they had begun erecting a few permanent buildings dedicated to various Gathering functions. She claimed one such building and announced that it would be a temporary infirmary for the recovery of the New Scotia alpha until further notice.

They had brought in a long table, then placed a thick straw bed on top of it so that Liulf would be higher off the ground. That made it easier for the caregivers to tend him and, when the day came that he managed to stand, it would be easier for him to do from that height.

The mattress was covered with two layers of clean blankets, which Luna insisted would be changed every day, and his body was covered with a third.

The day after Liulf was brought to the cabin turned hospital, the Gathering was officially ended. Silver Ruff made a parting speech congratulating everyone on the fact that all three packs were represented when the hunters had rushed to defend Liulf. The New Gaul alpha said that meant the union was working, functioning at its best, and that they were all the stronger for it. She talked about pride and the ideals of her vision of packs living harmoniously, but the celebratory mood had turned somber and couldn’t be recaptured as long as one of the alphas was in critical condition.

The three colonies of wolves began packing up to return to their respective homes and resume normalcy. Liulf’s brothers insisted that the New Scotia pack go without them and hold things together for their alpha. Luna insisted that she would stay until Liulf was either better or…

Grey finally insisted that she get some rest. She was so tired she could barely stand, but managed to give Rain some instructions.

“Come and get me if he wakes. Come and get me if he should start running a fever.” She could see that Rain didn’t know what she meant by that. “If his skin becomes very hot. Can you do that?”

Rain nodded.

Luna noticed she looked lost. “Are you too tired, Rain? Would you like me to get somebody else?”

Rain shook her head emphatically no. “I’m not too tired to take care of Liulf. I will come and get you if he wakes. I’ll come and get you if he feels hot.”

Luna looked her over thinking Rain was unsure and on the shy side, perhaps not yet mature enough for a responsibility of that magnitude. She decided to override her own misgivings because she knew that’s what Liulf would want if he could speak for himself.

“Good. I’m counting on you. Keep these stitched lacerations open to the air and, if I’m gone for longer than four hours, clean them very gently with this solution.” Luna held a small bottle toward Rain, but before she could take it, another hand shot in between them and grabbed it.

“I’ll be doin’ that,” Mave said as she shoved Rain out of the way.

Luna’s brows drew together. She hadn’t been raised in werewolf culture and knew that many things were different, but really bad manners look the same everywhere. “Who are you?”

“I’m Liulf’s mate and I’ll be the one carin’ for him.”

“If Liulf could speak, is that what he’d say? That you’re his mate?” Luna asked.

Mave straightened and glared at Luna. “I’m his true mate.” She looked at Rain and motioned toward the door with her head. “You can go.”

Luna had started to reach for the bottle, but her whole body jerked in surprise when she heard the ferocity of the snarl that erupted from Rain, who was in mid shift. She tore the dress over her head as her body was reshaping. Rain was beautiful in wolf form – silver and gray with dark blue eyes. Her upper lip was pulled back from her fangs, her intent so fierce that her eyes seemed to glow. As Rain circled around Mave, she emitted a constant low growl. When she began advancing, her shoulders hunched in stalk posture, Luna could see that she was herding Mave toward the door.

Mave still held the bottle she’d snatched and looked caught in fight or flight indecision, like she hadn’t considered the possibility of resistance. Seeing Mave’s uncertainty, Luna stepped forward and recaptured the bottle of precious antiseptic, before scurrying back out of the way. She’d been around werewolves long enough to know there was no faster path to self-destruction than getting in the middle of an altercation.

Rain took a threatening lunge toward Mave, backing her toward the door. That was when Mave made the decision to shift. Her face went hard as she tore her own dress down the middle, going to all fours in a blur. She returned Rain’s growl with a viciousness fueled by her sense of righteous indignation, however misplaced.

Rain cut the posturing short. She charged the usurper with enough force to push them both through the doorway onto the grassy clearing beyond.

Hearing the unmistakable sounds of a death battle, the wolves, who hadn’t yet left, dropped what they were doing and ran to spectate, forming a circle around the combatants. Wolf fights are often over within minutes. One either establishes dominance over the other and it is accepted, or one is disemboweled by a well-placed slash of fang, or powerful jaws clamp and rip out the throat of an enemy. But the fight between contenders for the position of Liulf’s mate did not end quickly.

Mave had centuries of experience on her side. She had observed countless challenges between wolves and had been in a few fights for various reasons, usually because she was unable to read signals from other wolves. Rain, on the other hand, had become an adult wolf only that morning and had never come close to fighting herself, which is why she didn’t know she had inherited her parents’ alpha traits.

Both Rain’s mother and father were alphas, but her mother led the pack. In a contest of wills between alphas, victory does not typically go to the one who is biggest and strongest. It most often goes to the one who wants it most and is willing to commit everything to winning.

Until Mave verbally challenged her acceptance of Liulf, Rain had never before felt aggression rise like a beast with its own mind. But the idea of a rival for Liulf sent her into a feverish fury.

Adrenalin pulsed through her body, tensing every muscle, bringing her to a state of readiness that only crisis or calamity can bring forth. Yet alongside that rage was a strange, oddly paired, sense of inner peace and calm telling her that she could win. That she would win. That no other outcome was possible. She was the essence of triumph in creature form. She was victory. She was conquest. She was alpha.

And though her body was prepared to move faster than the eye could track, it seemed to Rain that everything had slowed. She allowed the instincts of her ancestors to flow through her, taking control of her mind and body in an ancient ritual of claiming. She was focused on every change in her opponent’s stance, expression, and behavior – no matter how small. She was aware of the tiniest flick of an ear, the barest hint of tail going up or down, the suggestion that a shoulder was leaning one way or the other. It was almost as if she could see the breath Mave inhaled and exhaled.

Again and again Mave ran in, but each time Rain protected her vital areas while repelling Mave with a slash to withers or flank.

The werewolves who had formed a circle around the battling females were so excited by the spectacle, that many of them had involuntarily shifted and were howling or barking. The two females charged each other and clashed, both standing on their back legs, jaws snapping toward each other’s necks. Rain pulled a paw free and slashed at Mave’s face, slicing through her left eye with rigid black claws. With tail drawn so far between her legs it clung to her belly, Mave gave an ear-splitting shriek then ducked away a few yards and repeatedly rubbed her paw over her torn and bleeding eye.

When she raised her head again, Rain saw such hatred that she knew the fight would likely end in the death of one of them. And it wasn’t going to be her.

Mave snarled and ran at Rain, clearly intending to end the fight once and for all. Rain ducked away at the last minute, then turned and knocked Mave off her feet. Before Mave could scramble up, Rain had sunk her jaws into Mave’s hind quarters, then shook her head back and forth violently, severing one of the other’s wolf’s hamstrings. Mave howled long and hard before stumbling and falling into a series of whines and whimpers.

If Rain was a wild wolf, she might have killed Mave, but even in wolf form she carried another side to her nature – a side that was satisfied with half-blinding and crippling. Rain grew completely calm as she stared at Mave on the ground. She sneezed once like it was a statement of disgust and trotted off toward Liulf’s temporary quarters with her tail high as a flag at full mast.

Grey and Silver Ruff encouraged the onlookers to disperse, while Luna told some of the New Scotia wolves to bring Mave to her tent.

When Luna was finished patching Mave up as best she could, she returned to finish giving Rain instructions on how to care for Liulf. When she arrived she found another female sitting by Liulf, one Luna had not met.

“Hello.”

The girl stood. “I’m Rain’s friend. I brought her some things from her house that her mother gave me. She went to the stream to get clean before she put on clothes.” Luna nodded, which was all the encouragement the girl needed. She stepped forward excitedly. “Wasn’t she magnificent? Who would have guessed that Rain is such a fighter? I don’t know what started it, but it must have been important because Rain doesn’t get mad easily. Or even ever.”

“Yes,” Luna began, “I imagine it was about something very important to Rain. I’m Luna. From New Elk Mountain.”

“I know,” she said. “Everybody knows who you are. Well, first you’re, um, human of course and, second, you make people better when they’re not well. Rain asked me to sit with Liulf while she was gone and be sure that, well, you know, that nobody bothers him.”

Luna smiled. “What’s your name?”

“I forgot! I’m Littleberry. Rain and my other friends call me Berry.”

“Nice to meet you. Any idea how long Rain will be?”

The girl raised her head, looked toward the door, sniffed and gave Luna a big smile. “She’s here now.”

Luna looked toward the door. “Where?”

“Just outside.”

Luna stepped to the door and saw that Rain was walking toward the temporary infirmary amid nods of affirmation. It seemed she had raised her profile to celebrity status. It also seemed that she was still a good twenty-five yards away. Luna shook her head, marveling at the werewolves’ miraculous sense of smell. As Rain drew closer, Luna could see that there were scratches on her face, neck and chest – some deep, still welling blood, and that one of her own eyes was swelling.

She stopped in front of Luna, who moved her head from side to side so that she could see better. “What happened to your eye?”

Rain smirked. “Some bitch tried to claim Liulf. I said no. I think she slammed her head into my eye. Hard.”

“That would have been my guess.” Luna stepped inside the cabin. “If we were in another place, I’d have you put ice on it.”

“What’s ice?”

“Exactly. I would like to put something on those scratches though.” Luna looked at Berry. “Would you mind going down to the medical tent and asking my assistant to send the jar of Doggie Salve?”

“Doggie Salve?”

“That’s right.”

Berry shrugged and went to fetch the prescription. When she returned, Luna cleaned the scratches with antiseptic then applied some of the salve she’d made from alien Shea Butter and tea tree oil added to local beeswax, chickweed, lavender, and rosemary. She was musing that someday there might be interdimensional black market trade.

“That smells good,” Berry said.

“It does,” said Luna, “but it’s not perfume. It’s herbs that will help Rain’s scratches get better quicker.”

“Huh.”

The attention of the three women riveted to Liulf when he suddenly convulsed. He cried out because of the pain of contracting his stomach muscles suddenly, but the sound was interrupted by gagging. That was quickly followed by heaving.

Rain glanced from Liulf to Luna and she didn’t like what she read on Luna’s face.

“Get him by the shoulders and sit him up so that he doesn’t choke.” Rain and Berry struggled to raise him from behind and keep him propped up while Luna stuffed clean rags and a shallow bowl under his jaw to try and keep bile from escaping and running into the wounds on his stomach, as the toxins would be sure to create infection.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone enter the cabin. Without looking at them she said, “Find Liulf’s brothers! Quick!”

Fortunately, it was Conn and Ken, who had returned to stay with Liulf. They helped maneuver his body while the females changed the bedding. Luna cleaned his abdominal wounds again and applied more antiseptic, but she was worried and knew that her worry was affecting Rain.

She needed to get fluids into Liulf more than ever. Between the blood loss and the heaving, he was badly dehydrated and, in his unconscious state, there was no way to force fluid intake.

As the day wore on there was more convulsing and a fever began to spike. Luna was beside herself, not being able to diagnose what might be causing the convulsions. Her eyes ran over Liulf’s body for the hundredth time as she went through a mental checklist of possible causes and struck them off one by one. She talked to herself at length while Conn, Ken, and Rain exchanged worried glances. Then her gaze fell on the abrasion peeking out from beneath his shoulder.

She looked up at Rain, who seemed to have visibly aged because of the stress. “I have to go. I’ll be back shortly. If he wakes, sit him up gently and make him drink water, as much as you can get him to drink.”

All four nodded, the brothers, Liulf’s mate and her friend.

Stalkson Grey was told that Luna had been seen running from camp. After what had happened with Rain Falling, everyone was more anxious about venturing away alone. Except, to Grey’s chagrin, Luna. He caught up with her quickly.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To where Liulf fell.”

“Where he fell?”

“Yes,” Luna said with effort since she was out of breath. A part of her was a little irritated with Grey for being able to sprint without being winded at all.

Luna slowed to a trot when they were still a good forty yards from the tree and then came to a stop.

“What?” Grey said.

“Hemlock. It’s a hemlock tree.” Grey looked at the tree. “When he impacted the tree and slid down, it cut abrasions into his skin. The hemlock bark got into his bloodstream.” She looked at Grey. “That’s what’s causing the vomiting.”

“Do you have something for that?”

“Yes. Or I can make something pretty fast. Just need to get back to my tent.”

Luna made a mixture of asafetida and bison milk, but she couldn’t get it into Liulf’s body unless he woke up. In less than an hour from the time she’d left, she returned to Liulf’s private clinic with a jar of white liquid.

“Did he wake?” They all shook their heads no. “Well, we’re going to have to try to wake him.”

“How?” Conn looked at Liulf. “He seems very committed to sleepin’ it off.”

“I don’t know. Let’s start with cold water. Ken?”

“Aye?”

“Will you take that big pot out to the middle of the stream where it’s deepest and fill it with cold water?”

“Aye. What are you…?”

“Just do it.”

He grabbed the jar giving everyone in the room a look, and left.

“When he gets back, we’re going to pour the cold water on his head.”

Conn’s eyebrows went up. “That does no’ seem very nurturin’ of ye,” Conn said.

“Let’s get him awake. If we can keep him alive, there’ll be plenty of time for nurturing later.”

Conn had been instructed to sit Liulf up quickly if he woke from the shock of cold water. Ken’s job was to try to force him to ingest some of the hemlock antidote. Rain’s job was to encourage Liulf to drink the medicine, then, hopefully, to stay awake and drink water as well.

Fortunately for Liulf, for Rain, for his brothers and for all the people of New Scotia, he not only woke when he was drenched in a pot of cold spring water, he woke with a string of curses for the Cu Ahlee boys that the females had never heard before. His reaction was a mixture of panic, pain, and confusion, especially about the fact that Rain Falling was dabbing cold water from his head while speaking soothing words of encouragement.

He drank enough of the asafetida and bison’s milk to neutralize the toxic effects of the hemlock and, at Rain’s urging, drank water. Not as much as Luna would have liked, but she was pleased that he took in some fluids to begin replenishing what had been lost.

They replaced the bed with one that was dry, cleaned Liulf again and Luna supervised while Rain applied a yarrow salve to Liulf’s wounds. Liulf bravely suffered through the mechanics of trying to keep him clean and germ free.

Luna made him a rosemary tea with enough primrose and sweet woodruff to help him sleep more comfortably, then gave Rain careful instructions about how to prepare the tea and how often he could have it.

Grey insisted that Luna leave long enough to get some sleep. She went over the details of Liulf’s care with Conn, Ken and Rain twice more, then allowed her mate to lead her away.

Luna had left Mave in her tent in the care of her assistant, Harry.

“Ye’re Irish,” Mave told him, looking at his very red hair, face and beard.

“And you’re a mess,” Harry replied.

Mave cast her one remaining eye downward and said, “I do no’ like Irish.”

“’Tis because you’ve never been away from the land of lochs and fairy plaid skirts.”

“If ye’re Irish, what are ye doin’ with the New Elk Mountain pack?”

“’Tis a long story. The short of it is, they adopted me and I came here with them.” He put some tools aside and looked at her. “’Tis no point tryin’ to make it sound better than it is. You’re ne’er goin’ to run again and you’re always goin’ to walk with a limp.”

She shrugged like she didn’t care, then whispered, “I do no’ want to go back.”

“Back where?”

“New Scotia.”

“Oh.” Harry looked away for a few beats of his heart, then said, “You could come with us. We have plenty of room. Maybe you and I could be outsiders together.”

She looked at Harry with her one good eye and decided perhaps Irish weren’t so bad.

Conn and Ken brought two more beds and two more chairs to Liulf’s cabin. The three agreed that one would watch Liulf while two of them slept. Luna had said he could have more tea for pain when he agreed to eat something. He slept through the night, but woke when the sun was up the next day.

Rain was sitting beside him, but rose when she saw his eyes flicker open. She put her hand on his face to see if he felt hot. He didn’t. And his color was a little better.

“Conn. Ken. He’s awake.”

Liulf’s brothers were there in an instant. “Ye look a fright, Liulf,” Ken said.

Liulf managed a grimace. “Thank ye kindly.” He couldn’t take his eyes off Rain and didn’t know what had happened to cause such a dramatic change in her attitude. He also couldn’t help but notice the black eye, the scratches on her face, and the bandages on her neck and chest.

“I’m going to get him something to eat,” Rain said. She started away, but turned at the door looking back at Liulf, who was watching her intently. “Back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“What happened to Rain?” Liulf asked Conn.

Conn chuckled, pulled the stool closer, sat and said, “I’m truly sorry you missed it, brother. ‘Twas somethin’ to see. Rain fought Mave for the right to tend ye and sent her runnin’ with her tail between her legs. Well, she was no’ runnin’ exactly, because Rain left her crippled. Rain looked as much an alpha as any wolf we’ve e’er seen fight.”

Liulf turned to Ken for confirmation. If it was one of Conn’s jokes, it was in poor taste.

At length Liulf spoke, trying to separate the mental cobwebs from the pain and make sense of it all.

“I do no’ know what sounds more strange, that ye say Rain is set on matin’ with me or that she showed ye alpha. I did no’ take her for it.”

“I told ye she was young. Some wolves do no’ brin’ out their alpha until they mature. So ye’re bringin’ a wolf home by the paw with Silver Ruff’s bloodline strong in her. I’m seein’ a future between the two of ye with lots of fur flyin’.” Conn laughed. “How do ye plan to keep that sorted?”

Liulf still thought that was a lot to happen in a short amount of time, but he was not going to question pots of treasure left anonymously on the doorstep. “I plan to stay between her legs, hold her to two legged form, and mate her until she’s too happy to argue overly much.”

Conn laughed harder.

“What’s so funny?” Rain returned with chips of warm elk meat wrapped in corn meal flats. Liulf thought it smelled mildly appetizing.

“Liulf was tellin’ us his hopes and dreams for the future.”

“Oh. Well, sit him up,” she said, like she was accustomed to ordering his brothers around. A lot had happened while he’d been asleep. She unwrapped an elk roll and held it up to his mouth, smiling.

He took a nibble and she smiled more. “I like you eating out of my hand, Liulf.”

Conn snorted and turned away, laughing silently, but so Liulf could see him.

Everyone had left the Gathering campgrounds except for the people caring for Liulf. Silver Ruff sent food regularly and Liulf ate his share. He stayed awake longer each time he woke and, when he was awake, he never took his eyes off Rain. Rather than making her feel uncomfortable as she once had, she seemed to blossom and almost preen under his constant attention.

Luna was glad to see that the wounds were healing so much faster than they would on a human. Instead of ten days, she was able to remove the stitches in five.

She told Liulf that he could remove the splint from his arm when it was time to attend the next Council meeting on the new moon. He was clearly not pleased and complained.

“The wool is itchy. Makes me want to howl.”

“You’ll manage,” Luna said. Turning to Rain as if she was in charge, she said, “He cannot remove it before the new moon.”

Liulf huffed and pouted. “Perhaps some of Cairn’s recipe to take my mind off it then?”

“No. You cannot have some of Cairn’s recipe until you’re completely well and back on your feet.” Luna looked at Rain and back again. Her lips twitched.  “But there are other things you can do to take your mind off the sheep’s wool.”

Liulf’s eyes went to Rain and he saw the shadow of a flush cross her face, which was completely healed, leaving no sign that she’d ever been in a fight.

Luna said her goodbyes along with Conn and Ken, leaving Rain to nurse Liulf by herself. Luna suspected that he would feel good enough to make the trip to New Scotia within another week.

Silver Ruff had assigned New Gaul wolves to guard the two left at the camp, but they didn’t impose on the couple’s sense of privacy. With everyone gone from the cabin except Liulf and Rain, she went to a cloth bag and withdrew a musical instrument, similar to a guitar but held upright with a longer neck.

“Would you like me to play for you, Liulf?”

“Aye, lass. I’d love ye to play for me.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

He thought about it for a minute and finally said, “Whate’er ye play.”

She laughed and he smiled in response. Rain’s breath caught at the sight, beautiful enough to stop a female’s heart. Seeing her expression change, he became uncertain. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

“No, Liulf,” she shook her head and grinned at him. “You smiled.”

“Aye. Did ye like it?”

“I loved it.”

“Then I’ll be doin’ it again.”

“Promise?”

“Ye have my word on it.”

The first day Rain played and sang while Liulf dozed on and off.

The second day it rained. Liulf dozed and Rain watched, loving him more with every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out. She wondered if the slashes across his abdomen would scar and leave a permanent testament to his courage. And love. Not that she would be forgetting.

The third day he said, “How did ye come to be named Rain Falling?”

She laughed softly. “It’s one of those stories. Silly really. My parents claimed that, if I cried hard enough, the sky would weep with me.”

When she looked at Liulf to get his reaction, she saw love shining back from his eyes. “How about you? What does Liulf mean?”

“Nothin’ really.” He shrugged.

“Oh, no you don’t. I told mine.”

“’Tis embarrassin’.”

“I don’t care. Out with it.”

His mouth twitched. “Means Shield Wolf.”

“I’m going to need more.”

He rolled his eyes and looked away. “The Shield Wolf is first in battle. Supposed to be the strongest I suppose.”

She smiled. “And why is that embarrassing?” Rain squeezed his big hand with her smaller one while thinking that nothing could be more enchanting than a slightly pink blush rising in Liulf’s masculine face.

“Ye know.”

“No. I do not know,” she flirted. “Why is it embarrassing to be the biggest, baddest wolf?”

He squirmed a little, knowing that she was teasing, feeling uncomfortable and loving it at the same time. “Bein’ strong is no’ embarrassin’. Sayin’ so just is no’…” He screwed up his face.

“Are you trying to say that vanity isn’t a good trait for an alpha?” He nodded once, eyes fixed on her as if willing her to understand. “I understand. It’s another reason for me to love you.”

Liulf’s lips parted in surprise. He had carefully avoided the subject of mating for fear of scaring her away. He had thought he would take and enjoy any attention she was willing to give for as long as she was willing to give it.

He shored up his emotions, but decided to find out where they stood, once and for all.

“So will ye be comin’ home with me then?”

Rain beamed. “Of course. What did you think?”

At that very moment two New Gaul wolves entered to deliver food sent by Silver Ruff. They set it down and asked Rain if she needed anything else.

“Aye. If it would no’ trouble ye too much, could ye move these beds together and turn the mattresses cross ways instead of long ways?”

The wolves looked at Rain with understanding, grinned and proceeded to follow her direction.

She helped Liulf stand. He no longer needed the help, but cherished the moments when he could touch her and, in leaning into her, pull her closer.

By the time they had eaten the food it was getting dark. Rain helped Liulf into the left side of the makeshift bed for two so that his good arm was in the middle of the bed. When she started to light candles, Liulf stopped her.

“Come and lay by my side if ye love me, Rain. Let me feel you press yer body close to mine and hear ye breathin’ next to me.”

Rain didn’t hesitate. She pulled off her boots and eased onto the bed, being careful to keep him still. “Tell me if this hurts you.”

When she rested her head on his left shoulder, she was amazed that she hadn’t realized, long before the incident with the bear, that Liulf smelled better than anything in the world. She knew she would never get enough of his scent and instinctively wanted to rub it all over her.

His young mate snuggled close with a happy feminine sigh that made Liulf’s malehood twitch. He closed his eyes and reveled in the sensation of wholeness. The emptiness, that had always felt like a hunger needing to be fed, was gone, chased away by a little she-wolf who had become more important to him than anything, even his pack.

The first time he’d seen the territory that became New Scotia, he’d thought it was paradise, but after learning how it felt to have Rain Falling settle against him, her body going soft and accepting, he knew he’d been wrong. She was his paradise.

Rain lifted her head. She didn’t speak, but he knew something was on her mind.

“What is it, lass?”

“Kiss me, Liulf.”

As her mate, his first response would always be to give her what she needed without question, which was why he wasn’t thinking when he started to pull up with his stomach muscles. He winced and groaned when the still-sore muscles reminded him he was supposed to be recovering. That little bit of exertion and pain left him breathing hard. Rain kept her hand resting on his chest as if that would keep him from moving and doing further damage.

“Looks like if there’s to be kissin’, ye will have to be the one doin’ it. For now.” The two words he added at the end were pointed and full of promise.

Motivated by the feelings that rose from lying close to Liulf, Rain was feeling eager to explore more intimacy. After deciding the best approach might be sitting on her knees, she leaned over Liulf’s body, bracing herself with her hand on the other side of his broken arm and slowly lowered her face to his.

She touched her lips lightly to his and pulled back. He grinned, which simply electrified her. Having spent hours gazing at the perfection of his body, she was well aware that her mate was a catch in every sense, but when he smiled, he was transformed into such a vision of male beauty that even Connuchur couldn’t compare.

“Come now,” he said softly. “Ye’ve more to give me.”

His gaze shot to her tongue as she licked her bottom lip before pressing her mouth to Liulf’s again softly, stroking her tongue lightly against his bottom lip. Liulf sucked at her bottom lip, coaxing her to deepen the kiss. Their breathing quickened when tongues began to tangle and she had the urge to rock her body against him. She pulled back, knowing it would be too easy to get carried away and hurt him.

“Liulf,” she said his name almost reverently.

“I knew ye had somethin’ precious for me, Rain. Now I have somethin’ to dream about while this body is completin’ the mend. Then I’ll be showin’ ye how much I’ve been wantin’ ye.”

She kissed his chest. “You need to hurry and get well.”

He laughed, which caused him to reflexively reach toward his sore midsection with his good hand. The sensation of laughter was so foreign to him that he had to take a second to get used to the uncommon vibration of it. He couldn’t recall if he had ever laughed out loud since his mother had died and that was hundreds of years in the past.

“Ye made me laugh, Rain Falling.”

“Yes.”

“I ne’er laugh.” A touch of a smile lingered on his lips, as did the amused light in his eyes.

“Please don’t say that. It makes me want to tickle you.”

The idea of being tickled when he was trying to heal stomach wounds struck him as so funny he had to laugh more, even though it hurt.

When he quieted, he pulled her closer with his good arm. “Ye’re cruel to me, Rain. When I’m strong again, I’ll be the one threatenin’ you with sweet torture.”

She clearly heard the sexual implication and felt a shiver of anticipation.

Every day Liulf rose and walked a little farther. The first few times he leaned on Rain for support, but gradually she felt his weight less and less. He asked endless questions about her life, her pack, her likes and dislikes, and seemed genuinely interested in anything she said or did.

At night when she eased in beside him, he held his breath so that he wouldn’t miss the sigh that always followed. It was music to his ears, evidence that his young mate was happy to be matched with him. As Liulf’s strength improved, their nightly kisses became gradually more insistent and curious as eager hands began wandering and learning each other’s bodies.

“I wish I had thought to ask Luna exactly when you would be ready for, um, mating.”

“I’m ready now, Rain, but I plan to couple with ye when I have both my arms to put ‘round ye. Ye deserve to be embraced proper so ye’ll know I’m strong and will protect ye in the way ye deserve.”

Rain gaped at Liulf for a couple of heartbeats and then burst out laughing.

He scowled. “’Tis rude to laugh without sharin’ the joke.”

“Liulf! If I close my eyes without reminding myself not to think about it, what I see is a grizzly bear as big as a lodge planning to feed me to her babies for supper. You saved me from that. In fact, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” She leaned over and ran a trail of kisses over the still red marks where the bear’s claws had cut deep into Liulf’s body. Watching her do so made him gasp and then hold his breath as his cock swelled to painfully ripe. She looked up. “I’m real clear on the fact that you’re strong and that you’ll protect me. If it was ever a question, it hasn’t been since that day.”

Rain watched Liulf’s face as he processed her words and knew the moment when he decided that mating traditions could be dispensed with if both parties agreed wholeheartedly. His eyes darkened and became hooded right before he said, “Take off yer clothes.”

She grinned and complied without further discussion.

Liulf swept his gaze over her slowly and felt himself get impossibly harder. He’d just implied that he was giving them permission to complete the mating, ceremony or not. She climbed onto the bed, eyes gleaming with intent.

“Now come over here and remove my kilt.”

His good hand ran over her naked body while she fumbled with his belt buckle. In the time she’d been nursing Liulf, she’d become familiar with kilt fastening and unfastening, but hadn’t been aroused when she was doing it. When he finally felt the cool air on his privates, it added to his excitement.

“Touch me.” A small line formed between his brows as he watched her straddle him. But rather than touching, she bent down and blew air along his cock from base to head, never taking her eyes away.

She took him in her fist, squeezed and stroked when he hissed, then moved her body upward so that his lips could latch on to one of her breasts. She moaned when he alternately sucked her nipple and ran his tongue around it, and the sound of pleasing her was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. Pulling away, she lowered herself so that they were once again face to face, and centered her passion on the prospect of kissing him senseless. He growled his encouragement as he ran his good hand up the smooth skin of her thigh until he found her apex.

Between the sensation of her mate’s touch at her core and the beastly noises he was making, she tore away from the kiss and threw her head back in pleasure. As she rose, towering over him, he was sure he’d never seen anything so breathtaking. Not until she held his throbbing cock so that it stood straight up and began to ease herself down. As excited as she was, Rain never lost sight of the fact that she needed to give them both pleasure without hurting her mate. She rode him rhythmically, but not hard enough to put undue strain on the newly healed wounds.

“Tell me you love me, Liulf. I want to hear the words.”

“I love ye, Rain.”

The next morning when Rain woke, she would have stretched and purred like a contented cat, except for the fact that Liulf had left the bed. She sat up and looked around the cabin. “Liulf?”

“Out here.”

He was sitting on a bench just outside the door. “I need to go now.”

“Go?”

“Aye. I can no’ stay away longer.”

“You’re not ready. Luna said that, when you were well enough to walk home, you could go. She doesn’t want you riding in a wagon because she’s afraid it will be too much strain.”

“Aye. I plan to walk.”

“No.” She shook her head as if she actually had a say in the matter, which Liulf found both cute and charming. “You’re not ready.”

With a ghost of a smile, he said, “Come here,” holding out his left hand.

She went without question and allowed him to carefully seat her on his lap for the first time. He was so tall that being on his lap put them face to face. She reached up to play with his silky hair while his good left arm went around her waist and held her securely to him.

“I like this,” she smiled.

“Aye. As do I.” He nuzzled and nibbled her neck, which caused her thighs to clench together. “But do no’ be thinkin’ you will distract me from the subject at hand.” He pulled back to look in her eyes so that she would see his resolve. “’Tis time to go.”

“But why, Liulf? What’s the urgency? It’s good here.”

“’Tis good here, Rain. ‘Twill always be good when ye’re with me, where’re that be. But yer mate is alpha to a pack even larger than your mother’s. Ye have to know what that means.”

“But your brothers are looking after things for you.”

“Aye. And I trust them with my life, but my people will become restless if I’m away any longer. I need to go.”

“You haven’t walked further than to the stream and back.”

His hand drifted down to her hip and squeezed. “Are ye worried about leavin’ yer home?” He looked into her eyes to judge her reaction and thought he saw a flicker of worry. “Tell me the truth. I shall ne’er be angry with ye for sayin’ what’s in yer heart and mind.”

“I… don’t know. Maybe. But my biggest concern is you.”

“I do no’ doubt that. But do no’ worry about your place in New Scotia. The Highlander wolves will love ye as I do.”

“You can’t know that, Liulf.”

“I can and I do. But in any case. ‘Tis no’ as if ye are leavin’ forever. Ye can see your family and friends whene’er ye want.”

Reluctantly, Rain arranged for a bison and cart to carry the things she most wanted to take with her to New Scotia. Liulf told Silver Ruff that, when he was fully himself again, he would resume his weekly visits except that, instead of hoping to get a glimpse of Rain Falling, he’d be bringing her with him. The New Gaul alpha was pleased enough with that promise and with the match her daughter had made.

Silver Ruff insisted on sending a brace of her hunters with the couple, saying she’d heard there were bears in the woods. The journey, that normally took Liulf two hours in wolf form, took three days because he was slow and exhausted before he reached ten miles a day.

The second day it rained on them and soaked the sheepskin wool between Liulf’s right arm and the splint Luna had fashioned from hide and twine. Once the wool was wet, he complained incessantly.

Rain laughed at him. “You didn’t complain about a broken arm or having your stomach sliced open or any of the awful things that went with it like vomit and fever, but you gripe like a bluejay and whine like a baby about a little wet wool.”

He gave Rain a wry look. “As my mate, ‘tis yer job to give me sympathy.”

She stepped in front of him, stopping his forward progress, and circled her arms around his waist. Touching his lips lightly with hers, she smirked. “I’ll give you plenty of ‘sympathy’ as soon as we stop for the night.”

“Ye’ve decided yer no’ longer bashful?” He nodded toward the two wolves functioning as their escort.

“I plan to ask them to camp near enough, but give us some newlymated time.”

He arched a brow. “Oh look. Is that the sun settin’ now?”

She laughed and patted his finely shaped rear end.

It stopped raining, but since the bison had a harder time pulling wooden wheels over wet ground than dry, their progress was slowed further and they soon decided they might as well stop. She first hobbled the bison so that he could graze, but not go too far and not be hard to catch in the morning. Then she unharnessed him. She’d found a place to stop next to a waist-high rock. After feeding her mate elk jerky, corn meal flats, and a small round pinkish fruit that Liulf had never seen before, she removed the tarp that had protected her things from the rain and began unpacking the cart, setting her things on top of where she spread the tarp on the ground.

“What are ye doin’ now, Rain?”

“You’ll see.”

After a quarter hour, the cart was almost empty. She pulled it around and positioned the traces on the rock so that the cart was level and stable.

“Come see,” she said as she moved to the rear.

By that time it was dark. The clouds were gone, leaving a clear starry night with a waxing moon shedding enough light for Liulf to see that she’d left her prize possession in the bed of the cart – her feather mattress. She pulled the boots from her feet and lifted her hemp shift over her head, exposing skin that looked like the surface of a pearl in the incandescent moonlight.

“Here,” she said as she reached for Liulf’s kilt, “let me help you with this.”

They had found that the idea of Liulf wearing a shirt wasn’t practical with a broken arm, which was fine with Rain because she loved watching the rippling movement of his upper body. She had often lost her train of thought in conversation because she’d gotten caught up in following the movements of hills and valleys. She unfastened his belt and his kilt and laid both over the side of the cart. Then she turned and crawled into the wagon, giving him a very fine view of her from the rear.

He was already hard, but the sight of his mate presenting almost made him come on the spot.

She turned on the mattress so that she was facing him and spread her legs, leaning back on her hands. “Will you need some help getting up here?” The hint of a smile was replaced with heat as her eyes drifted down his body and locked on the erect appendage that clearly shared her eagerness.

Using his good arm, Liulf pulled himself up in a single motion. She squealed in surprise.

“Liulf Cu Ahlee! If you hurt yourself, I’ll…”

Rain was unable to finish that thought. He sank slowly to his knees and, bracing himself with his good left hand, lowered himself so that they were skin to skin. Of their own accord, her legs wrapped around him. He growled at the first hint of friction between their bodies and she moaned in response. He rewarded her sexy eagerness with a newlymates’ kiss that seemed to go on forever, exactly the way Rain always dreamed a lover’s kiss would be.

With one arm immobile and the other employed to keep his massive weight from crushing Rain, Liulf had to let his body, rather than his hands, speak for him. He licked and sucked, nudged and nipped, while she made little murmurs of encouragement and approval, arching her back toward him. When she began rocking her pelvis upward in invitation, he repositioned himself and penetrated her body excruciatingly slowly, a little in, a little out, a little more in until they were as connected as two-legged creatures could be in that position.

“Liulf,” she said with such dreaminess in her voice it made him believe himself to be the luckiest wolf to ever claim a mate. Gradually he increased the pace of the joining until he felt a reaction from his midsection and then backed off slightly. If things went according to plan, there would be centuries to explore hard and fast. There would be plenty of time to say all the things in his heart, things he hadn’t yet tried to say because emotion threatened to choke off his speech.

Within a week after returning to New Scotia, Liulf’s arm was freed from the splint, which meant he could finally make love to his mate with the full use of both arms and both hands. And that is the story of how the New Scotia Pack Dynasty began. Liulf had promised his mate that he would smile for her again and true to his word, for the rest of their lives, whenever Rain Falling looked at Liulf with love in her eyes, he smiled.

More Mahdrah Ahlee COMING in 2015

Connuchur, New Scotia Pack, 2

Cenead, New Scotia Pack, 3

Victoria Danann

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HIGHLAND WOLF PACT

By Selena Kitt

Chapter One

Scotland

Middle March

Year of our Lord 1502

Sibyl Blackthorne wasn’t afraid of anything.

That’s what her father had told everyone, from the time she was a toddler. It was probably because she was an only child, and a girl, that Robert Blackthorne, her dear, sweet father had encouraged her to do more masculine things than feminine ones. Who could blame the man for wanting a son? If she’d been a boy, she could have carried on the family name, assumed the family title, and run the family estate.

But Sibyl was a girl, and all she was good for was marrying. After all the sword fighting, archery and riding lessons, Sibyl’s only real contribution to her family was her pretty face and ability to catch a husband. She found the whole process ridiculous and told her mother so, several times, while her mother instructed the servants to lace her corset tighter, pinch her cheeks for color, and powder the tops of her breasts as if they were dinner rolls and they were dusting them with flour.

Her protests, however, did her no good whatsoever. Her father wasn’t even around to protect her anymore—a fact that made her tear up every time she thought about it, so she tried not to—and in the end, her uncle got his way. Godfrey Blackthorne was a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer, whether it was from the Archbishop of Canterbury or even the king himself. He wasn’t going to let a little slip of a girl like Sibyl thwart him. So Sibyl had been effectively sold—that’s how she saw it, even if it was a perfectly legal marriage pact, drawn up between her uncle and her betrothed and signed by King Henry VII—to a man she not only didn’t love, but a man she didn’t even know.

She had thought the worst part would be adjusting to living in Scotland, but she was wrong. The worst part, at least so far, had been her betrothed himself. The man she had anticipated meeting during the entire month-long trek across the English countryside, through the Scottish lowlands, to a dank, dark structure the Scots actually called a “castle,” had turned out to be far worse than the uncle she had left behind.

“We need to git you ready for the hunt, ya ken?” Moira bustled into the room, her arms full of fabric. Sibyl felt like a doll they dressed up several times a day and paraded out for her fiancé’s approval. She didn’t understand—it wasn’t as if the man hadn’t already agreed to marry her. But Alistair seemed to delight in each new outfit. She found it rather disconcerting.

“I don’t want to go.” Sibyl sighed, leaning against the window ledge and peering down at the courtyard below. The men were already tussling in the yard, energy high, anticipating the kill. She’d been excited at the prospect of a hunt at first. Her father had led many on their estate back in York, and she’d ridden alongside the men with her own bow. Her father had even marked her cheeks and forehead with the blood of the first boar she’d ever taken down by herself from horseback. She was an excellent shot—she could hit her mark at fifty yards.

But when her fiancé had informed her, in no uncertain terms, that English ladies didn’t carry weapons on a hunt, that they rode side-saddle, like respectable women, Sibyl knew she was, once again, just going to be paraded out in front of everyone for show. She wasn’t going to get to hunt at all on this “hunt.” And, she had decided, if that was the case, she was just going to stay in her room and read a good book. That was far preferable than riding side-saddle on some old, tame, brood mare while her husband-to-be bragged about his hunting prowess, nudging his men and whispering to them about Sibyl’s long, curly red hair and big, sea green eyes.

“Now, come along.” Moira clucked and fussed, putting the pile of dark green velvet on the bed. “Yer betrothed bids ye hunt wi’him.”

No, her betrothed bid her to ride on a horse beside him like a good little girl.

“More clothes?” Sibyl looked down at the blue silk day dress she had worn to breakfast. “Isn’t this sufficient?”

“Aye, more clothes, and be grateful, lass!” Moira’s eyes flashed. “This dress could feed a family in my village for a year.”

A year? Surely not! Sibyl had always been a bit spoiled, even at home, although her toys had been things like her own falcon, Peri; a Norwegian longbow; and her stallion, Prince. Her mother had purchased her dresses over the years, but Sibyl had refused to wear them, and her father had indulged her. For years, she had gone around Blackthorne Castle wearing breeches like a boy, much to her mother’s embarrassment. Only when company came did her mother put her foot down. Then there was the struggle of fighting Sibyl into a bathtub, brushing the tangles out of her long red hair, and lacing her into a dress.

Of course, that didn’t stop her from challenging their guests’ sons to foot races or shooting contests, which she usually won, much to her father’s delight. It also usually ruined whatever clothing she was wearing. She would end up with dirt smeared all down her front, or mud caking the hem of her gown. Then there was the time when she was twelve and she stripped down to her chemise and had a boy unlace her corset so they could go swimming in the waterhole and try to catch frogs with their hands. Even her father had been angry that time.

Sibyl lifted her arms obediently at Moira’s urging, letting the old woman take off her day dress and toss it on the bed. She was used to the process now, had gotten used to it back home, when her uncle—her father’s brother, a man so unscrupulous, he had wooed and won Sibyl’s mother after her father had died—had insisted on finding her a “match.” It had been an endless supply of dresses then too, and a continual parade of men who wanted to hold her hand. Some of them had even dared to kiss her cheek, or even her mouth. Those she had kicked in the shins. The one who had pinned her against a wall in the south garden and grabbed her breast had been kicked somewhere more private. Her father had taught her that too.

Her uncle had soon discovered that Sibyl’s value, while it was quite high in looks, decreased considerably once a man had actually met and attempted to court her. Her uncle could order her bathed and groomed and dressed, but he couldn’t control her behavior—as much as his threatened, and actual, beatings made the attempt. So her uncle had changed his strategy, and had started looking for men much further away, who might have had heard of her beauty, but who were too far away or too busy to actually travel to meet his young, marriageable stepdaughter.

The best match—in her uncle’s estimation—had been Alistair MacFalon, laird of clan MacFalon and warden of the Middle March in Scotland. It wouldn’t have been Sibyl’s choice, but Sibyl didn’t have a choice. The agreement had been made over ale and fish in King Henry’s court. The King himself had suggested and approved of the match. Sibyl knew then, with a sinking heart, that she was done for. Before she knew it, her mother had kissed her dryly on the cheek, murmured something about behaving and doing her “wifely duty,” and then Sibyl was on the road to Scotland with a pack of armed guards and one ladies’ maid.

Rose was a silly girl who liked to talk about fashion and clothes and court and who was doing what with whom and when until Sibyl was bored to tears. Rose especially liked to talk about men. She talked about royalty, she talked about lords and ladies and earls and duchesses, she talked about men she’d met at court, she even talked about the guards who were escorting them through the English countryside to what would be Sibyl’s new homeland. Rose talked so much, Sibyl was grateful when the girl started slipping out at night, because Rose would talk until she finally fell asleep—and then, she snored.

A few nights, Sibyl awoke to the sound of something she thought, at first, was an animal, hurt and crying in the forest. Then, she realized, it was Rose. She’d heard her talking enough to recognize the sound of her voice, even if it was a non-verbal sort of scream. Sibyl listened, ashamed of herself for doing so—but the woman was so loud, the whole camp had to have heard her, she reasoned!—knowing that Rose was having marital relations with one of the guards. Her mother hadn’t told her anything about them, but the ladies’ maids at her father’s estate did so like to gossip, and Sibyl had gleaned most of it from them. That, and from watching the animals in the forest, the dogs in the yard.

But Rose wasn’t married. She knew standards were different for ladies maids than they were for women of Sibyl’s station—but the consequences weren’t. It had taken them a month to finally reach the Scottish border, and by then, Rose was with child. Sibyl was furious when the captain of the guard, who lined up his men and fired off the question about who had been bedding with their charge’s ladies’ maid, came back and told her that none of the men would confess.

“Was it an immaculate conception then?” Sibyl had snapped.

She had been tempted to fire them all. She fantasized about riding the rest of the way on her own, showing up at her betrothed’s castle alone, on horseback, with no escort. She knew, however, that her uncle would hear of it, and his reach was long. He would punish her somehow for such a transgression.

The captain of the guard had suggested they leave Rose by the side of the road and simply move on. This had angered Sibyl even further, so she had ordered they stop at the next town for longer than the guard wanted, and she had searched out a family that would take Rose in. She would have to work, of course, in trade for her room and board, but at least she and her baby would have a safe place to stay.

That left Sibyl without a ladies’ maid at all, which suited her just fine. Although she hadn’t quite anticipated the dressing problem she was going to have. Instead of lacing herself up into a corset—which was impossible, she discovered—she went without it altogether. She wore those dresses that laced or buttoned up the front, and once she reached the castle, it was Moira who greeted her, clucking over her appearance, insisting she be bathed and dressed before meeting her husband-to-be, so that she look “like a proper English lady.”

It was important to her betrothed, Sibyl quickly discovered, that she look like a “proper English lady” at all times. It became clear that her Scottish husband-to-be had agreed to marry her almost solely on the basis that she was highborn, English, and a lady. This last was debatable, but as long as she looked the part, so far he hadn’t seemed to care. He just liked to look at her, and show her off, and brag about his conquest. Alistair MacFalon did a lot of bragging about his conquests.

“There.” Moira nodded in satisfaction, curling the last of Sibyl’s long, thick auburn tresses around her fat, sausage fingers. “Ye look as pretty as a pitcher.”

Sibyl frowned into the mottled looking glass she was seated in front of. She’d been trussed up like a turkey in her corset and dressed in green velvet like a Christmas tree. Moira put a green velvet hat with silver ribbons threaded through it on her head, securing it with pins that Sibyl knew would be useless on a hard ride. But the effect was stunning, she had to admit. As girls went, she was kind of a pretty one, she thought, cocking her head and squinting at the glass. Whenever she had lamented her carrot-colored hair as a child—the village boys had teased her mercilessly about it—her father had told her she would appreciate it, one day, when she was older and men started to take notice of her.

There had been one boy, a gruff, dark-haired chap who worked in her father’s stables, who had looked at her in a way that made her skin tingle and flush. He had told her once he thought she had beautiful hair. “Like fire,” he said softly, helping her off her horse. At the time, it had been tangled and full of brambles, but he hadn’t seemed to notice. Her body had slid all the way down his long, lean frame when he gave her a hand, a sensation that made her gasp and his nostrils flare like her stallion, Prince, when he caught scent of something interesting.

Other girls had said, rather cattily, that she was “too pretty for her own good,” whatever that meant. They seemed to think beauty was wasted on a girl like her—one that would rather go hunting for deer than dance and flirt with boys.

Sibyl stood, smoothing the velvet dress over her hips, seeing herself as her fiancé must. She was tall—taller than most girls—and thin. Too thin, really, and quite muscular. It came from years of being so active. Her skin wasn’t the type to turn brown from the sun, but it was freckled, much to her mother’s chagrin. They dotted her nose, her arms, even her breasts—hence all the white powder. But she had to admit, in spite of all her flaws, once she was dressed up, she made quite an elegant looking young lady. Her mother would have been proud.

Her father, she thought, frowning at her own image at the mirror—what would he have thought of her impending marriage? Her betrothed? She thought she knew. And the answer wasn’t a good one.

“Yer as ready as ready can be.” Moira gave a satisfied nod, ushering her toward the door. “Hurry up now, he’ll be waitin’ for ye.”

“I forgot my wrap,” Sibyl said, turning back halfway down the dank, damp hallway. Moira sighed, turning to go back for it. “No, no, you go. I know you have other work to do. I’ll fetch it myself.”

“Ye sure?”

“Of course.” Sibyl was already heading back to her room.

She gave a quick peek to make sure Moira was continuing on her way before closing the door. Her wrap was sitting on a chest and she snatched it, but she also knelt to peer under the big canopy bed, reaching to grab a satchel she had packed slowly over the past several weeks since arriving in Scotland. Inside was a canteen—stolen and filled with water—three days’ worth of food, if she stretched it, a flint, and a knife, stolen from the kitchen. Thanking God for the current fashion of big skirts, she pulled hers up and pinned the satchel to her chemise.

It bumped against her leg when she walked, but she thought her skirts would hide it well enough. She was willing to take that chance. She’d already decided as much. Pulling her wrap around her shoulders, she headed back out of her chambers, walking slowly down the stairs so as not to call too much attention to what she had hidden under her skirts. Just carrying it made her flesh prickle like a plucked goose when she thought of what might happen if her betrothed found out she was planning an escape from his dank Scottish castle.

“G’day, Lady Blackthorne!”

The sound of her name made Sibyl gasp as she came around the corner to head toward the courtyard. Alistair’s brother, Donal, was heading toward her, a bow slung over his shoulder. She looked at it longingly, knowing if she could get her hands on that, she wouldn’t need to worry about stretching her stale bread and dried fruit.

“Good morning, Donal.” Her smile for him was genuine.

Donal MacFalon might look like his brother—dirty blond hair, angular features—but unlike his sibling, his smile always reached his eyes, and those eyes weren’t gray, but blue, like a summer sky, and they seemed to twinkle all the time. He had been very kind to her since her arrival at the MacFalon castle and had gone out of his way to make her feel welcome.

“Are ye ready for yer first Scottish hunt then?” He offered her his arm and she took it, letting him escort her out into the breezeway.

“Yes, very much. I just wish I could ride astride and carry a bow,” she lamented.

Donal laughed—he had a wonderfully robust laugh that made everyone around him merry—looking down at her with those glittering eyes.

“If my brother wasn’t such a stick in the mud, he’d let ye.” He dropped her a wink. “Scots women do’na ride side-saddle. And I know many a woman who could outshoot me brother.”

“Well then I’d like to be a Scot, please.”

“When ye marry Ali, that’s just what you’ll be, lassie. King Henry and yer uncle—er, yer stepda—they’re counting on this marriage to help squash the border skirmishes.”

“Yes, I’m a very important pawn.” Sibyl made a face.

Her uncle, who was now also her stepfather, had used her to gain the king’s favor, assuring him an alliance between a highborn English lady from the Blackthorne family with the MacFalons, who controlled a great deal of the land in the Middle March, would help quell the border skirmishes that cost the crown both money and resources.

The feudal lands on either side of the border were valuable. Lachlan MacFalon, Alistair and Donal’s father, had done his best to keep the continued fighting between the English and Scottish to a minimum, but after his death, things had degenerated quickly. Alistair, Laird Lachlan MacFalon’s firstborn son, was not the man his father had been, and Sibyl had seen for herself how little respect he elicited in his own men. Alistair could never inspire the respect of the English, whether they were peasants or royalty, like his father had.

But Alistair was laird of clan MacFalon now and something had to be done about the thieving, poaching, and bloodshed on the border. This was King Henry’s solution—and Sibyl’s uncle had been instrumental in putting it all together.

“So you ken what this is all about then?” Donal inquired, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, I ken.” She nodded, meeting his knowing eyes. “I mostly definitely ken.”

She understood it quite well. She had just decided that she wasn’t going to be a party to it. She was tired of being played like a pawn in their little chess game. This was the first opportunity she would have to escape and she intended to take it, the moment a chance presented itself. It was at least a week of travel on horseback to the village where they had left Rose, but she knew the family would take her in. She just hoped Alistair wouldn’t put out a reward for her return because anyone in a poor village would turn her in without a second thought if they believed they would be paid for doing so.

“I’m sorry, lass,” Donal said softly as they walked into the courtyard where the men were waiting with their horses and their hunting gear. She felt their eyes all turn to her, an affect she knew delighted her betrothed. He seemed to like the way men’s eyes followed her around his keep.

“It’s not your fault.” She smiled up at the man holding her arm, wondering if things would have been different if it had been Donal who was the first son instead of the second, if it was Donal to whom she had been engaged. He wasn’t a bad looking man, and his kind heart and sense of humor seemed to soften his sharp features. “But thank you.”

One of the men—his name was Gregor, he had made it a point to introduce himself to her on several occasions—nudged his companion with an elbow and leaned over to say something she couldn’t hear. It was something snide and nasty, she was sure, about the Englishwoman who had come to live in their land. She hated being so different—and those differences being so obvious—but there was nothing to be done about it.

Sibyl pasted on a smile as they made their way across the courtyard toward her betrothed. He was smiling too, although something always felt forced about this expression on his face. Whenever she looked away from him it would fade, and his thin, red lips would sink into a frown. Then, if she looked at him again, the smile would reappear—but, unlike his brother’s, it never, ever reached his eyes.

“I have delivered yer bride to ye safely, brother.” Donal gave a decidedly English bow as they approached the spot where Alistair was waiting for her out in the yard. Winnifred, the tame, old gray mare she’d been riding since she arrived, stood beside his big, black steed, Fian. Old Winnie was fitted with a side saddle.

“Ye look like a summer day, Lady Blackthorne.” Alistair greeted her with a slight bow, one arm folded across his middle, one behind his back. She had been called Lady Blackthorne all her life—her father had been an earl, which made her a viscountess—but it felt like an insult here in this land, among these people.

She was on eye-level with her betrothed’s bare knee, a sight she still had a hard time getting used to. The Scots wore the strangest outfits, and the plaid blanket they wore strapped and pinned around them most of the time was the strangest. Donal said it was a Scotsman’s best tool, but she doubted the veracity of his claim. She wasn’t one to insist on everything being prim and proper—she was, after all, the girl who had spent most of her childhood wearing pants—but seeing a man’s bare legs hanging out all the time was unnerving.

“Thank you, m’lord.” She acknowledged his compliment as the groomsmen came over to her up into her saddle, but Gregor got there first. She couldn’t do anything but smile as he manhandled her up onto her mount, his hands in places no man’s hands should ever go in polite company. She gritted her teeth and bore it, as her fiancé seemed to either not care, or wasn’t paying attention. The horse didn’t stop grazing on the early spring shoots of clover.

“Alistair.” Her betrothed tightened his grip on Winnie’s reins, forcing the horse closer to his own, as he reminded Sybil that he wanted to be called by his Christian name. “Ye ken?”

This made Sibyl’s knees, hidden under mounds of green velvet, brush up against his bare ones. It also shifted the makeshift satchel she had hidden under her skirts and she stiffened, trying not to let on. She looked up at him—his was a war horse, far taller than her own—as he leaned over to murmur something close to her ear. “That’s the name ye will be callin’ on yer wedding night, lass.”

“Yes… Alistair.” She gave a short nod, heart thudding hard in her chest, wondering if the man even remembered her own Christian name, and doubted it. She just wanted him to let her horse go, so she could steer Winnie away from him. Sibyl didn’t like to think about wedding this man, let alone bedding him. But all he seemed to think about was the latter.

“I like the way ye say it.” He didn’t let Winnie’s reins go. In fact, he pulled the nag closer. The horse whinnied in protest, but she side-stepped, her flank brushing his big steed’s. Alistair’s mouth was now right against Sibyl’s ear. His breath reeked of alcohol. “And from such a pretty mouth.”

She was relieved when he pulled away slightly, but only far enough for him to look into her eyes. His were as gray as a storm cloud, his features sharp, angular. His hair was a dusty, dirty blond and a lock of it constantly fell over one eye. His gaze moved over her mouth, tracing the line of her lips, and Sibyl thought for a moment he was going to do something very unknightly with everyone’s eyes on them.

“Jus’ a week away now,” he murmured, those gray eyes lifting to meet her own. “Are ye lookin’ forward to your wedding, Lady Blackthorne?”

She’d been fitted for her wedding dress before she left—it was part of the not inconsiderable dowry she had carried with her from England. The gown was waiting on a dress dummy in a room all its own down the hall. The train was long enough to fill it.

“Every girl dreams about her wedding day,” she answered properly, and quite loudly.

Other girls might have dreamed about and planned their wedding day, but Sibyl Blackthorne wasn’t every girl. She reached out to take the reins of her horse from his hands. He was surprised, and this gave her the advantage. She had her horse five steps away from his before he could even respond. “So I hear we’re not hunting for boar?”

She said this last to change the subject and mitigate the sting of her actions. Alistair straightened on his horse, looking coolly down at her. He didn’t like what she’d done, that much was clear. She was going to have to do more to make up for it.

“I heard the men talking about wulvers,” she said innocently, actually batting her eyelashes at him. She’d seen Rose do this with one of her guardsmen and had practiced it herself in a looking glass when no one was around. She felt ridiculous doing it, but she’d had a feeling it would come in handy. She was right. “We don’t have those in England. Are they like badgers?”

The men, who had been watching the whole encounter, couldn’t helped their laughter. Even Alistair reluctantly smiled, that same smile that never reached his cool, gray eyes, and even gave a little chuckle at her ladylike misunderstanding.

“Wolves,” Alistair corrected her with that same condescending smile.

“Wulvers are wolves?” She blinked at him in surprise. “So wulver—that’s Scottish, er, Gaelic, for wolves?”

She was surprised to hear it, as she’d never been on a hunt for wolves. Her father had told her, when he was a boy, wolves were one of the five “royal beasts of the chase,” but their numbers had dwindled over the years until they were almost nonexistent in England.

“Nuh, m’lady.” Alistair’s brother, Donal, pulled his horse up beside hers. She was now sandwiched between the two MacFalon brothers. “Not jus’ any ol’ wolves. Wulvers is a whole other animal.”

“What do you mean?” She cocked her head at Donal, frowning. “What kind of wolves are they?”

“They’s not really wolves at all, ya ken?” Donal’s blue eyes glittered, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“No.” She shook her head, knowing he was somehow putting her on, but not quite understanding how. “I most definitely do not ‘ken.’”

“They’s wolves that turn into men.” Donal leaned forward on his saddle to whisper this loudly. The rest of his men were watching her reaction, all of them smiling. “And men that turn into wolves. Wulvers—ya ken?”

“Do’na scare the poor girl t’death.” Alistair chastised his brother when Sibyl didn’t respond to his stage-whispers. “She’ll run back t’her room and hide on ye.”

“I will not.” Sibyl’s spine straightened instantly, which wasn’t easy to do in a side-saddle. For some reason, side-saddles always made her want to slump, an offense her mother often chastised her for. “I’m not afraid of wolves. Or… wulvers.”

“Aye, she’s a brave lass.” Donal straightened in his saddle, laughing. “Might wanna give’er a bow, brother.”

“She hasn’t seen a wulver yet,” Alistair countered, steering his horse closer to Sibyl’s. “I’ll keep ye safe, lass. No need for ye to worry.”

“Thank you.” Sibyl nodded, giving him an obligatory smile. “But I really would like to have a bow. Would that be possible?”

She looked between the two men and saw Donal trying to hide a smile. He clearly understood his brother’s desire to have a dainty, feminine English companion, and just how far Sibyl actually fell from that mark.

“Your brother tells me that Scots women ride astride and carry bows in a hunt,” she said, hoping she wasn’t getting Donal into too much trouble by repeating his words. Alistair gave his brother a long, cold look.

“But ye are English, m’lady,” her betrothed reminded her in his Scottish brogue. “Mayhaps—”

“But shouldn’t I learn your ways?” She decided to try batting her eyelashes again. It seemed to have an effect on Alistair’s mood. “I would like to learn all of your ways. Can’t you teach me how to use a bow?”

This last seemed to decide her fiancé and Sibyl could almost see him fantasizing about holding her close while he instructed her on the proper way to hold the weapon. Alistair motioned to one of the groomsmen and told him to bring over a longbow and a quiver of arrows. She slung both over her shoulder, feeling much better about her plan. Poor Donal had no idea what he’d just given her, and surely wouldn’t have encouraged it if he’d known.

“Thank you,” she mouthed to Donal when she was turned away from Alistair so he couldn’t see. The younger MacFalon just winked and turned his horse toward his men.

“Let’s ride!” Donal yelled and all the horses’ ears pricked up.

“Stay with me,” Alistair urged as the rest of the men took off, riding across the field of heather toward the line of trees in the distance. “Stay close.”

She did as she was told—she was starting to get used to that, a fact which disturbed her—riding at half the clip the other men were, keeping up only with Alistair.

“Are ye really not afeared, Lady Blackthorne?” Alistair asked as they neared the trees. The other men were already into the woods, heading down a well-worn path on their horses. “Of the wulvers?”

“I… don’t know.” It was a lie.

She knew they were all fooling, just putting her on, trying to get her to react in typical feminine fashion at some Scottish folk tale about men that turned into wolves or the other way around. And if they weren’t—if Alistair really believed in these strange, fantastical creatures—she had even less respect for him than she’d managed to muster already.

“I wanna show you somethin’, if ye can be a brave lass.” He smiled at her, a secret smile that, this time, almost reached those cold gray eyes.

“Of course.” She gave him a nod as they entered the woods, the temperature dropping a good ten degrees just from the cover of trees. “I can be brave.”

Her father had taught her to be a brave girl, after all. She followed Alistair deeper and deeper into the woods, their horses side by side on a path they seemed familiar with. She heard the men whooping and hollering ahead of her and longed to be with them, riding astride instead of side-saddle, wearing a pair of breeches instead of this heavy velvet dress. Her father had taught her a lot of things, she realized, and most of them would be useless to her here, living with this man who wanted her to be something she wasn’t.

She had to smile at the thought of Alistair and Donal and his men believing she would be scared of an old wives’ tale. There were far more frightening things in the world, she was coming to realize, than what old women and men told youngsters around the fire to scare them into being good. She’d heard those tales herself as a child, stories of dragons and unicorns and griffins. Maybe they had scared her once, when she was what Moira would call a “wee bairn,” but not anymore.

She rode fearlessly into the forest, realizing she was far less afraid of wolves—or wulvers, whatever they were—than she was of marrying Alistair MacFalon.

Chapter Two

Sibyl would have enjoyed the ride through the woods, if it hadn’t been for Alistair’s constant yammering. The man loved to hear himself talk and she had no idea how they were going to find anything to hunt with his constant chatter scaring away all the game. She listened with half an ear to his words—he was going on about some tournament he had won in England, a feat probably meant to impress her, since he was Scottish and she English—but she was paying far more attention to the woods around her.

Her father had taught her to track. Not just to hunt, which often involved tracking an injured, bleeding animal through the forest, if you were unskilled enough not to make the first shot a kill shot, but to actually track. He had taught her the difference between animal prints. She could even differentiate between a chipmunk and a squirrel print. Her father and his men had taught her the names of all the plants, their medicinal uses and their dangers. He had taught her how to care for herself out in the woods—how to build a shelter, make a fire.

She was thinking these things, and how they would come in handy when she escaped, paying attention to the sounds of the men in the distance—she could tell they were still on the hunt and hadn’t found any wolves, or wulvers, or anything else for that matter—the sound of a stream off to her right, the crackle of branches to the left, a small animal, a fox or perhaps a rabbit, when she heard something that made her pause and rein in her horse. It was a familiar sound, one she’d heard a hundred times—the sound of an injured animal.

“Lady Blackthorne?” Alistair reined in his horse, glancing back at her inert form with a frown.

Her ears were as attuned as the horse’s. She had heard something to their right, off in the direction of the stream, but the sound was gone now. Alistair spoke up again and she waved at him to be quiet. It wasn’t a gesture he was used to heeding and he bristled and blustered at her boldness, making it impossible to really listen.

“Please,” she insisted, holding up her hand for him to stop. “I thought I heard something.”

“’T’was nothing, surely.” Alistair winked. “Not a wulver, a’course. Want to hop up ’ere with me, lass?”

He patted his bare thigh with a wink.

“No, thank you.” Sibyl shook her head, averting her eyes and frowning, still listening for the sound. She might be willing to bat her eyelashes to get her hands on a longbow, but she wasn’t willing to indulge this man’s fantasies that she was afraid of imaginary animals.

“Ye sure?” he offered again, leaning forward in his saddle so he was eye-to-eye with her. “I promise ya a good ride.”

Sibyl’s hand itched to smack him across the face and thanked God she was out of arm’s reach. Just seeing the smug, self-satisfied look on his face made her realize, even if she was chased, caught and killed by whatever roamed these woods at night—even the fantastical “wulvers”—she couldn’t marry this man. She preferred being eaten by wolves.

A long, baying howl rose up around them and Sibyl sat up straight in her saddle, eyes wide, not from fear, but in surprise. That wasn’t just a wounded animal, it was a dangerous one. A coyote, a wild dog—or perhaps a wolf. She knew the sound of a pack call well enough. Her father had taught her about the way canine packs hunted. Often one would lure a victim down a path where the pack waited, and then an ambush would ensue. He’d warned her never to follow a lone canine anywhere, even if it pretended to be hurt.

“Surely you hear that!” she exclaimed hotly, meeting Alistair’s amused gaze.

Sibyl urged her mare onward, but Winnie didn’t move. She might have been old and slow, but she wasn’t stupid. The horse knew what she’d heard and so did Sibyl.

“Aye, I did,” he agreed. “Ye think it was a wulver, then?”

“No.” She scowled at his persistent attempt to try to scare her into his lap. “But it was a pack call. There’s an animal in trouble.’

“And how do ye be knowing that, lass?” His fair eyebrows went up in surprise and Sibyl could have kicked herself for saying it. He liked his women beautiful and dumb, and so far she’d been perceptive enough to attempt both in his presence.

“I…” She swallowed, and was once again saved by another long, keening howl.

This one was closer, and the sound of it actually made goose flesh rise on her arms.

“Come.” Alistair smiled again, eyes narrowing as he guided his horse to the right.

Sibyl urged her horse forward and the mare reluctantly followed Alistair’s big, black steed through the trees. There was no worn path here, but horses had been through this way before nonetheless. The foliage was denser, the ground covered in bluebells. It was a lovely ride, to tell the truth, and Sibyl would have enjoyed it immensely if it hadn’t been for her companion, her damnable saddle and dress, and, alarmingly, the sound of that wounded animal.

“There it is again.” Sibyl stopped her horse, straining to hear. The men were off to the north, so it wasn’t a result of an arrow finding its mark. At least, not from any of MacFalon’s men. Mayhaps there were other hunters in these woods, she mused, or mayhaps trappers. Although this was MacFalon land, and anyone setting traps would be seen as a poacher. It was a crime punishable by death in the Middle March, but Donal said you had to catch them first. The border was thick with thieves—reavers, they called them—always poised to steal from a laird.

“Come.” Alistair jerked his head forward, urging his horse on, and Sibyl sighed and obediently followed.

They were headed in the direction of the sound of the wounded animal. As the horses made their way through the trees, the cry grew louder. This wasn’t the wolf call she’d heard. This was the sound of an animal trapped, perhaps injured. Might be it was the wolf’s kill she was hearing? Surely Alistair had to hear it now? But she didn’t stop again, didn’t ask him. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. The path narrowed, the horses parading through the trees single file, dappled sunlight falling on the carpet of bluebells that scattered the forest floor.

“Are ye ready to be brave, Lady Blackthorne?” he called over his shoulder, grinning back at her.

She’d never seen him smile so wide or look so delighted doing so. It gave her a chill and she slowed her already sluggish horse, letting Alistair pull even further ahead.

“Look here.” Alistair stopped his horse, the big steed dancing sideways, perhaps surprised by the sudden maneuver.

Sibyl’s mare halted without her doing anything and the horse’s ears twitched. The old nag shook its head, shuddering Sibyl on its back, and she wondered at the motion. A fly in its ear mayhaps? But Winnie seemed jumpy all of a sudden, and for this horse, that was a miracle. Even Fian, Alistair’s war horse, was stomping and pawing at the dirt.

And then she saw it.

The animal was enormous, but the cage even bigger. Sibyl sat rooted in her saddle, staring at the white wolf pacing back and forth, round and round. It saw them and its hackles rose, teeth bared in a snarl. Its eyes were a bright, luminous blue, a color she didn’t even know existed in nature.

“A wolf!” she whispered, incredulous, sliding down from her horse—side-saddles did make for an easier dismount. She’d never seen one before. Coyotes, dogs, yes. Drawings and paintings of wolves, even a horribly smelly wolf hide her father’s huntsman liked to wear, but never a real wolf.

Winnie nickered and tossed her head as Sibyl passed. The horse, divested of its rider, decided to back a safe distance away from the giant, iron cage. She wondered at the construction of the thing as she neared it, barely hearing Alistair’s cry of caution. Someone had dragged this monstrosity—the cage, not the wolf—down the path to this small clearing, had perhaps even created the spot itself, scattering underbrush to make way for it.

“Is it a trap?” she wondered aloud, glancing up as Alistair quickly dismounted and tethered his stallion to a nearly tree, urging her to stay back.

Even the seasoned war horse backed away from the pacing, snarling wolf, but Sybil was too entranced to keep her distance. The wolf was snow white with silver streaks, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life. She wanted to reach out and touch it, but she wasn’t that foolish. Its canines were long and impossibly sharp, still bared at them as Alistair grabbed Sybil by the elbow and pulled her safely back against him.

“Are ya scared, lass?” He had trapped her in his arms. She struggled against his hold, but he had her held quite fast, and his grip only grew tighter as she squirmed to get free. The truth was, she wasn’t afraid of it—she was in awe. “Ye know, wolves’re ferocious animals. Man-eaters.”

She stopped wriggling in his arms, listening to him speak, her gaze locked with the wolf. It was such a beautiful creature and, looking into its eyes, she saw a sadness there that was quite human. It knew it was trapped, doomed to die, and was desperate to escape. The animal had stopped pacing. It stood facing them, head lowered, eyes fixed on them, black lips lifted to reveal two rows of sharp incisors and pink gums. A thick, low growl came from its throat.

“How did it get here?” she asked softly, although she had a feeling she already knew.

“Our huntsman baits them.” His hands moved over her dress, no longer holding her arms clasped against her middle. They moved slowly down her hips as he talked. “Makes ’em groggy enough to move ’em. If he finds a wolf before the hunt, he pens it up ’ere for his laird.”

“Do you release it then?” She stiffened, breath caught, as she felt him slowly hiking up her dress in front. The satchel, heavy against her thigh, was still pinned there. “For the hunt?”

“Nay, lass. Did ye forget, I am laird?” He chuckled. She’d never heard him quite so smug. There was something gleeful and almost sinister in his voice. “’Tis my kill. My conquest.”

“Your… conquest?” She swallowed as she felt the cool forest air against her shins, her garters and hose little protection. He had lifted her skirt to her knees now. Her heart hammered hard in her chest. She was far more afraid of Alistair finding her satchel than she was of the enormous wolf baring its teeth at them. “You mean to kill it now, like this? In a cage?”

“Aye.” He hiked her skirt up a little higher, making Sibyl gasp aloud. The wolf snarled, snapping at the air, shaking its big white head from side to side, spraying her legs with froth. “And drag it out behind me horse.”

“But… she’s with pup,” Sibyl whispered with dawning horror. The animal’s belly was swollen and distended. It wasn’t just horrifying that his men would lock up an animal, let him shoot it in a cage, and then pretend their laird had done something courageous by “hunting” it—but that they would do so while it was breeding? That was beyond the pale.

“Aye, she is.” Alistair chuckled. “We’ll rid the woods of more than one wolf today.”

Sibyl felt her cheeks flush hot with rage. Her heart had previously been filled to the brim with disdain for this man, but now it overflowed completely. She couldn’t hide her derision and was glad he couldn’t see the contemptuous look burning in her eyes. The wolf, who had been growling and pawing at the bottom of the cage as if it could manipulate the latch, suddenly stopped, cocking its head to the side like it was listening for something.

Alistair, of course, hadn’t noticed. He was too interested in getting under Sybil’s dress to pay any attention to the animal he had imprisoned, and Sibyl trembled, terrified he might actually discover what was beneath the cover of her skirts. He mistook her quivering for excitement, exhaling hot against her neck with breath that reeked of alcohol and tobacco, slobbering against her ear and panting harder than the dog he held captive.

“I will teach ye,” he said, his voice low and thick with lust. Sibyl felt her heart flutter like a wild bird looking to escape her ribcage. She wasn’t only afraid of being discovered now. Alistair’s intentions were becoming clearer every moment. “Would ye like to learn how ta pull the bow, m’lady?”

She’d almost forgotten it, still slung over her shoulder. His hand moved, his rough palm stroking her right thigh over her silk chemise. He was inches from the satchel. Moments away from discovering her secret. Sibyl shuddered to think what he might do, if he found she planned to escape. A low moan escaped her throat at the thought, and she saw the wolf looking at her, head still cocked, blue eyes bright with such a profoundly sad, almost human-like understanding, it was almost painful.

Sibyl recognized the desperation in the animal’s eyes. They were both trapped in a cage with no way out. The animal had paced and pawed and sniffed in every corner, frantically looking for escape, but it was futile. They were both railing against a force neither of them could overcome, throwing themselves against bars that would never break.

“My arrow aims true, lass,” Alistair growled into her ear, fingers digging deep into the flesh of her thigh, pulling her back against him so hard it jarred her teeth and nearly made her bite her tongue. There was something like steel against her backside, another bar of her cage, and she couldn’t bear it, not for another moment.

“Noooo!” she wailed, the cry coming from her throat unbidden as she twisted in his arms. Her protest was joined by another, keening wail, this one came from the wolf in the cage, who lifted its big, snowy head and howled, its nose touching the top bar. They were both crying in unison, she and this white wolf, eyes turned skyward, begging for their freedom.

“Ye will not deny me!” Alistair snarled, gripping her thigh so hard she knew he must be leaving marks. Her eyes never left the wolf. Its hackles were up, a low rumble coming from its throat. “Y’are mine! Ya ken?”

“No!” Sibyl roared, yanking herself forward, out of his arms, and stumbled toward the cage. Her motion forced Alistair backward and she heard him trip and fall and she had a brief, fleeting hope he would hit his head on a rock and bloody himself to death.

The wolf gave a short, sharp bark, so near her ear it made her head ring with the sound, but she was already reaching for the latch, had already decided that dying here in this forest in the jaws of this beautiful animal was far preferable than being pawed by the creature behind her who called himself a man.

The bolt stuck. It had been in this place a long time, this cage, the latch rained on and rusted, and for a moment, she thought it wasn’t going to come open, and she would be the one undone here on the forest floor in a crush of bluebells, devastated under her betrothed’s rutting, animal lust.

She panted with the effort, the wolf pawing at the bottom of the cage, turning in circles in excitement, whining softly, and she heard Alistair swearing in Gaelic behind her, picking himself up from the forest floor and dusting himself off.

“This isn’t hunting!” She scowled as she pushed and pulled, and with one, final crack, the bolt shot back. “This is murder!”

Sibyl knew it was the end. She dropped to the forest floor and covered her head with her arms, knowing what was coming, preparing herself for it as best she could. She thought of her father, saw his face, the way he had beamed at her the first time she’d hit her mark with a longbow, the pride and delight there. He would have been proud of her today, defying her uncle’s plan for her, standing up to Alistair, setting the wolf free, even if it meant it would cost her everything. Even her life. An honorable death was preferable to being attached to the shameful excuse of a man she had been sold to.

But none of that meant she wasn’t terrified.

Sibyl’s whole body shook as she asked God for a quick death, whispering the words of a prayer over and over into the dirt, as if it could protect her from the bone-crunching, agonizing pain that was coming. The snarl of the wolf grew louder and she heard Alistair yell behind her, no words, just a short, sharp sound, as the wolf leaped out of its prison, clearing Sibyl’s huddled form in one bound. She felt the thud of its paws behind her and knew it was free.

“Get back!” Alistair warned and Sibyl heard the fear in his voice. It was trembling.

She forced herself to look, to glance behind her at the wolf, standing tall outside its cage now. If she had been standing, the top of the wolf’s head would have easily cleared her shoulder, maybe even higher. Alistair looked tiny in comparison as he crouched back against a tree. He had drawn a knife from his boot and was brandishing it at the wolf.

“Stay back!” he insisted in a strangled voice, looking over at Sibyl with wide eyes. “Your bow! Throw me the bow!”

Sibyl had forgotten it again. The bow and quiver had slipped from her shoulder and rested on the forest floor. She snatched up the longbow, quickly pulling an arrow from the quiver, cocking it, drawing the string, and taking aim.

“Shoot it!” Alistair howled, still waving his dirk at the animal.

The wolf’s shoulders were hunched, head down, teeth bared, but it didn’t attack. Nor did it run. Sibyl wondered at this as the animal turned its head to look back at her. Those blue eyes shifted from hers to the bow she held in her hands, as if it understood she was holding a weapon, and what that meant.

“Sibyl! Shoot it!” Alistair insisted, lashing out at the wolf with his knife, slicing the animal’s hide across its chest. Blood bloomed in stark contrast to its white fur.

The wolf howled, reacting instantly, its teeth sinking into Alistair’s forearm and shaking the dagger loose. It sailed some distance away, landing at the feet of Fian. The big, black steed had backed as far away as was possible on his tether and Sibyl noted that Winnie was gone altogether, back down the forest path, presumably headed toward home. That meant she had no horse upon which to escape and cursed herself for her thoughtlessness in not tying the animal up. She would just have to take Alastair’s, she decided.

Sibyl stood, bow still drawn taut, taking careful aim. This was her one chance and she wasn’t going to waste it.

A shout to her right, coming from the direction of the stream, startled her, making her heart leap up high into her throat, but it didn’t sway her aim. She knew it was likely one of Alistair’s men but she didn’t care. She would be on Fian and away before they caught her.

Sibyl’s arrow found its mark.

The wolf howled, bounding off, and Alastair screamed, a high-pitched sound that echoed in the quiet woods, making the horse behind her whinny and yank at his tether.

Sibyl lowered her bow, staring into her betrothed’s wide, pained eyes.

“You shot me,” Alistair croaked, staring at her in disbelief and then looking over to see his forearm pinned to the tree on his right, an arrow sunk clean through his flesh and deep into the tree’s bark.

“My arrow aims true, too, ya ken?” Sibyl kept the tremble from her voice, eyes blazing. She didn’t take her gaze off him as she picked up the quiver and slung it and the bow across her shoulder. “I could have killed you. Remember that.”

She turned to grab Fian’s reins and ran into the bare chest of a man with thick, dark hair almost as long as her own. Sibyl barely reached his shoulder and she looked up, up, into the man’s face, into his bright blue eyes, her breath catching in her throat. He was a Scot, but he was not one of Alastair’s men, of that she was sure. He wore only a Scot’s tartan plaid, wrapped and belted at his waist, part of it pulled like a sash across his broad, bare chest.

“I… I must…” Sibyl struggled to find her voice, wrestled her mind for words that would make sense when strung together all in a row. The man’s presence was disarming enough, but the look in those bright blue eyes made her knees feel wobbly under her skirts. “Be… be away.”

The man didn’t speak, but his look pinned her to the spot. She was mindful of her surroundings—of Alastair’s cries for help, of the big, black horse that had pulled free from his tether and had turned to gallop back up the forest path, of the sound of men and dogs and horses in the distance—but she was far more aware of her own body than she’d ever been before in her life. Her blood rushed through her veins, her heart its hot, thudding pump, lungs pulling in breath in fast, cooling gulps, limbs tingling, torso a burning inferno, as if the man’s look alone had caused her body to catch fire.

“Ye will pay for this!” Alastair roared, writhing in pain on the ground. He was trying to work the arrow out of the tree with his other hand, but it was buried halfway in. The trees in these woods were yielding, their trunks soft with the dampness that permeated this land, and Sibyl knew just from looking at it, the arrow would have to be clipped.

“I must be away,” she whispered, hearing the sounds of the men, dogs and horses growing nearer, knowing the repercussions for what she had done would be severe if she was caught here in these woods still wielding the longbow that had impaled her future husband through his forearm.

But her means of escape had, well, escaped. Both Winnie and Fian had disappeared down the path and she had no choice but to attempt her flight on foot. She turned to run, knowing she didn’t have long, but she was waylaid once again by the stranger’s bare chest. He had somehow sidestepped and appeared in front of her, even though she was now facing the opposite direction, heading deeper into woods.

“Tiugainn!” The man spoke Gaelic, a dialect she only remotely understood, but his meaning was clear enough in the way he took her by the elbow and steered her down the path. At least, Sybil thought as she struggled to keep up with his long strides, they were headed in the right direction.

“Let me go!” she cried, trying to shake out of his grip, but it was no use.

The man’s enormous hand easily encircled her upper arm and the strength in it was surprising. He pulled her along and she stumbled after him, unable to yank herself free. The dark-haired stranger didn’t follow the path. He steered them to the right, through the trees, where the underbrush was thick and the hem of Sibyl’s dress caught on branches and made her falter. The sound of the stream grew louder as they traveled deeper into the forest.

Sibyl felt a rage growing in her belly, now that the wolf was gone and she knew she wasn’t going to die—and least, not imminently—and they had vanished far enough down the path that Alistair’s voice had grown dim. She could no longer hear his men approaching on horseback, and the sound of the dogs was faint.

Beside her, the half-naked Scotsman finally stopped, cocking his head and listening. His hair fell like a black waterfall over his broad, brown shoulders, eyes narrowing, shifting from side to side, a gesture she knew from years of being taught how to stay aware of her surroundings by her father. He was scanning, looking for movement, listening, perhaps, for anyone pursuing them, but Sibyl wasn’t going to stay around long enough to find out. She’d had enough of being pawed by one man or the other.

“Let me go!” she insisted, taking advantage of his hesitation to finally wrench herself free.

She began to stalk away from him, the satchel under her skirts heavy, weighing her down. Once she was away from this stranger, she would stop to unpin it. The longbow and quiver were still slung over her shoulder, and for that she was grateful. Once she had found a place to cross the stream and she’d left any trace of her scent behind, a certain dead end for the dogs Alistair would surely send after her, she would start looking for game.

“Ow!” Sibyl complained when the stranger grabbed her again, and this time not just by the arm. He had her from behind, the way Alistair had held her against him in front of the wolf’s cage, but her reaction was far different on this occasion. The stranger’s body was big, muscular, his arms easily enveloping her small frame. “You big, dumb oaf! Let me go!”

She had no idea if he understood her, but she thought she sensed his demeanor change at her words. Still, he didn’t loosen his hold and no matter how much she struggled, there was no way to break free.

“If you don’t let me go, I’m going to scream!” Sybil cried, wriggling in his arms. This only made the man tighten his grip, which left her gasping for breath.

“Bidh sàmhach!” he growled in her ear. She didn’t know what that meant either but she could guess.

The stream was visible ahead, rushing over crags and rocks, the current strong and steady. She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the rushing water, but the man stood completely still. Something had drawn his attention, but she wasn’t sure what.

“Could you… just… let me go…” Sibyl managed, drawing short, painful breaths, her ribcage aching from the way he held her so tightly. “I—”

“Bidh sàmhach!” he insisted again, this time shaking her. She felt like a rag doll in his arms. Closing her eyes, she listened too, straining to hear what had captured his attention, but there was nothing but the water surging over the rocks.

“Thank the Lord,” she muttered when the man’s arms loosened and she could breathe again. She rubbed her aching sides, scowling back at the giant brute. “I don’t know who you are, but I am perfectly capable of—”

He frowned down at her, gaze sweeping over her muddied and torn dress. While it once would have fed a family in Moira’s village for a year, it was now suitable as little more than rags. She had lost her hat ages ago, somewhere back near the wolf cage, where she had left her betrothed pinned to a tree with an arrow.

“What are you doing?” Sibyl protested, but barely had time to get the words out before the big man had divested her of her weapon and had thrown her over his shoulder and began carrying her downstream. “Stop! Let me go!”

Her words were lost in the rush of the water and he didn’t seem to hear her at all as he moved quickly—much faster and more nimbly than she expected of a man of his size—down the shoreline. She beat at his back with her fists, but he didn’t seem to notice that either, and before long, her hands ached. It was like hitting a slab of rock. When he stopped, she lifted her head to look around, noting their position, away from the protection of the tree line now.

And then she heard it. Could he really have detected the sound, so far away? The dogs were barking again. On the hunt. She imagined Alistair telling the story to his men, making up something so he, of course, looked like the wounded hero. Perhaps he would tell them she had been kidnapped by the massive brute who now had her thrown over his shoulder—and really, was that far from the truth? She knew he wouldn’t tell them she had put an arrow through him. That much he would leave out, she was sure. She hoped.

“They’re coming!” she hissed, beating at the human rock’s back again. She hit him in the side, eliciting a satisfying grunt from the man, and did it again, pleased when she heard his sharp intake of breath. “Let me go! They’re coming for me!”

“Bidh modhail!” he snapped, his hand coming down hard on her behind. Sibyl hadn’t been spanked since she was a child and, while it really didn’t hurt, given how much padding she had on under her skirts, the humiliation of it reddened her cheeks and made her instantly quiet.

And then they were flying.

It wasn’t really flying, but it felt that way. He was so agile, so quick and light on his feet, it felt as if he had simply taken flight as they crossed the stream. Behind them, the dogs grew closer. They were onto a scent—likely her own and she cursed herself for not grabbing her hat, which would allow the dogs to pick up her trail—and pursued it with fervor. Sybil bounced on the big man’s shoulder, squealing at one point, thinking surely he would fall and she would go tumbling head-first to her death onto the slippery, moss-covered rocks, but then they were across, heading into the cover of the woods on the other side.

Once they were a sight distance from the tree line, the man upended her with a grunt, putting her back onto her feet. Sibyl pushed an already tangled mass of auburn hair away from her face and glared up at him. He didn’t smile, but his eyes danced, clearly amused at her stance—hands on her hips, face upturned—and the words that came tumbling out of her mouth.

“You bumbling idiot! You could have killed us both!” she snapped. “I didn’t ask for your help. Do you understand me? I don’t want your help! No! Go! Away with you!”

She shooed him away like an annoying fly but the man didn’t move. He just looked down at her with those devilish blue eyes.

“Goodbye! Mar sin leibh!” She didn’t know many phrases in Scottish Gaelic, but she had learned a few from Moira. Hello, goodbye, please and thank you. So she said the words, hoping he would understand, and from the look on his face, it was clear he got her meaning. “I’m going! Mar sin leibh! Goodbye!”

She turned and stalked off, getting as far as the nearest tree before he grabbed her again.

“Will you stop that?” she cried, pushing at his arms as they encircled her and turned her to him. “No! Chan eil! Chan eil!”

She repeated the Gaelic word for no, seeing the frown on his face at her protest.

“Shh.” He touched a finger to her lips, shaking his head.

“Chan eil,” she objected again, but this time, the word came out in a mere whisper. “No… please…”

“Tha.” His thumb traced her jawline as he looked down at her, the sunlight dappled across his face and chest. She knew the word—tha. Yes. It meant ‘yes.’ Sibyl felt her breath quicken as the stranger traced her lips with one finger, his gaze falling to her mouth, then to her throat, then further down still, to the way her breasts nearly overflowed the top of her disheveled dress.

“Tha,” he said again, lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. So blue. His eyes were so blue. “Yes.”

“You… you speak English?” she whispered, cocking her head at him in wonder. “Who… who are you?”

A howl from deeper in the forest startled them both and the hair on the back of Sibyl’s neck stood up. Perhaps the animal’s howl was in response to the dogs, because they were barking across the river, sniffing up and down the shoreline, searching for their scent. The men weren’t far behind. They were closing in.

“The wolf,” she gasped, stepping instinctively closer to the stranger, and he encircled her with one arm, pulling her close against his big frame. She lifted frightened eyes to his, knowing the animal was wounded, that it might attack them, even now. And Alistair’s men were close—too close. “It’s the wolf!”

“No.” He said the word in English, but his brogue was thick as he met her eyes. “A wulver.”

“A… wulver.” She swallowed, trembling in his arms, and before she knew it, the stranger once again had her thrown over his shoulder, carrying her deep into the forest, but this time, Sibyl didn’t speak a word of protest.

Chapter Three

She bounced around on his shoulder as he made his way deeper into the woods but Sibyl was far less concerned about the bruises she was going to have all over her body than she was about the sound of dogs at their back and the howl of the wolf that grew louder with every step. He was taking her away from one threat, but they were heading straight into another. The stranger, however, didn’t seem very concerned about that.

Sibyl was starting to get nauseous, traveling upside down, with only a view of the forest floor and her captor’s tartan plaid. She clutched that garment for dear life, amazed at how fast the man could travel, with little sign of exhaustion or even slowing. And then, he stopped. It was so sudden, she clutched at him, afraid of what might have immobilized him so quickly. She couldn’t see around him.

“Laina.” He said the word, but Sibyl didn’t know what it meant. She looked up at him, puzzled, when he set her on her feet. The upending made her dizzy and she clung to him again, just to keep from collapsing, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her up easily, without a second thought.

The sudden howl that filled the forest sent goose flesh up and down her arms and Sibyl turned her head slowly, eyes wide, following the big man’s gaze. The white wolf stood a stone’s throw away, staring at them through the trees. Her fur was matted with blood, like a red bib down her front, where Alistair had cut her. She was still just as beautiful—and just as dangerous—as the last time Sibyl had seen her.

“Wait!” Sibyl cried, but it was too late.

The man approached the animal without even a modicum of caution and Sibyl, still dizzy from her upside-down ride through the forest, hung onto a tree, cheek against the rough bark. Her captor didn’t appear at all afraid and neither did the wolf. Sibyl watched in disbelief as the wolf sank down until her belly rested in the dirt, head bowed as the man advanced.

“No!” Sibyl protested when the man unslung the bow and quiver. “Chan eil!”

He didn’t heed her, but he didn’t pull the bow as she thought he would. Instead, he set it aside as he knelt before the wounded wolf. She’d never seen a man so fearless. Even her father’s huntsman, who had taught her bird calls, who had shown her how to silently, patiently trap small game, had advocated caution with even the smallest of forest creatures. Animals were notoriously unpredictable.

“Laina,” he said again, reaching his hand out, and Sibyl cringed, expecting the wolf to bite him as she had Alistair.

But the wolf accepted the man’s attention, whining softly as he inspected her wound. It was almost as if the animal understood that he meant her no harm. Sibyl watched in disbelief as the man’s hand moved through the wolf’s fur, one hand scratching lightly behind her ear as he examined the wound with the other. Sibyl’s curiosity got the better of her and she approached cautiously, fascinated by the animal.

“She’s hurt,” Sibyl said softly, nearing the two of them. “Alistair, he… he cut her with his dirk, after I got her free.”

“She won’t die.” The man looked up to meet Sibyl’s eyes. She noticed, for the first time, that they weren’t just blue—they were the same, incredibly bright blue as the wolf’s. It was startling. “But she thanks you for your kindness.”

“You do speak English.” She stared at him, incredulous, still not quite comprehending his words, even though they were in her native language. “Who are you?”

“Aye, though I haven’t spoken yer tongue in some time.” He gave a small nod, a brief smile flashing across his face. His voice was deep and rich, his brogue was thick. “I’m called Raife.”

“My name is Sibyl.” She looked from him to the wolf, who whined and panted, her side heaving with effort. The poor thing must be badly hurt, she thought.

Sybil sank to the ground next to the man called Raife, reaching out tentatively to touch the wolf’s fur. The animal acknowledged her touch, glancing at Sybil as she ran a hand over the wolf’s thick coat, but didn’t seem to mind. She glanced at the stranger, wondering if he was some sort of animal trainer. A man had come to her father’s castle once with a big bear who had sat at his feet. He had fed it scraps and led it around on a leash.

“She was caught and put into a cage,” Sibyl went on, amazed at how the wolf let them touch her, with not even a growl of warning. She must be tame, like the old man’s bear, she thought. “My… that man… he…”

“Aye, lass, I know.” Raife wiped at the wolf’s blood with the end of his plaid. He had unwrapped the part that went over his shoulder to do so, and was now kneeling completely bare-chested on the ground. “I was sent for her.”

“Sent… for her…” Sybil repeated the words, but they still made no sense at all, no matter what language they were in. “Does she belong to you?”

“Chan eil… er, no.” He shook his head, using his plaid to stem any further flow of blood. “Mo bràithair… ah… my brother.”

“Ohhh,” she breathed, nodding. “He’s an animal trainer, your brother? He tames wild animals?”

Raife stared at her for a moment, those blue eyes dancing again. Then he let out a laugh, loud and long, shaking his dark head. The wolf shook its white head too, whining softly, and then began to pant again. Raife turned his attention back to the animal, his big hand moving along her side, petting her gently.

“Easy, easy,” he murmured, frowning, eyes troubled. “She can’t change like this, when she’s so close to pup.”

“Change?” Sibyl’s head came up, hearing something else. It wasn’t just the wolf she heard whining. Through the woods came the sound of dogs barking. They were still on the hunt, although this time, they weren’t hunting for wolves—or some imaginary half-man, half-dog the Scots called wulvers—they were hunting for her.

“Do you mean… is she giving birth?” She stared at him with wide eyes.

“I have to get her back.” He cocked his head, frowning, and Sibyl knew he heard the same thing she did. The sound of men, shouting to one another. It was Alistair’s men. They had crossed the stream and had picked the scent back up again. “Laina, can you move? Can you get up?”

“Laina…” Sibyl said the word and the wolf glanced at her, whining but struggling slowly to her feet. “Her name is Laina? The wolf?”

“Wulver,” Raife corrected, taking the wolf’s giant head in his big hands. The animal looked into his eyes, whimpering, and he nodded sympathetically, petting her behind the ears. “Tha mi duilich.”

Raife stood and the wolf looked up at him expectantly. Sibyl did too. She had no idea what came next. Without this man and his strange pet, she was alone in these woods with no horse and a posse of men at her heels. She knew she had to run, if she had any chance of escape, as far and as fast as she could. She’d already lost too much time.

“The men are close.” Raife seemed to read her mind. “They will find ye.”

She nodded, heart thudding in her chest as she heard a clear shout, “This way!” and could have sworn it was Donal’s voice. Perhaps it was too late after all. Alistair’s men would find her and then what? She tried to imagine the consequences he would mete out for her actions and shuddered at the thought. But when she looked at the wolf and thought of her pups, she couldn’t for a moment regret her decision.

“Ye choose.” Raife’s eyes lifted, scanning the woods and Sibyl knew what he’d seen before she even turned her head. She saw it in the momentary flash of anger in his eyes. Alistair’s men were in sight now. “Stay here or come w’me.”

She nodded, glancing through the trees, seeing the dogs running ahead. Was there a choice, really? The decision was a simple one. Raife, whoever he was, had been protective and, if a bit rough, kindhearted. His caring for the wolf had shown her that much. Alistair, on the other hand…

“You must hold on tight.” Raife said over his shoulder, loosening the plaid around his waist and pulling the fabric free.

“Sir, you mustn’t!” Sibyl gasped, covering her face with her hands, glimpsing far too much of his backside before she could turn away from him as he disrobed.

“Climb on and hold tight!” He told her and she gasped when she felt him behind her, his mouth right next to her ear. “I do’na want to leave ye here.”

“Please,” she whispered as he stepped away from her, not daring to open her eyes. “Cover yourself. I don’t—”

A howl rose up behind her, covering her whole body with goose flesh. Sibyl sank to her knees, giving up, hearing the men shouting, dogs barking. There was no escape now, unless the strange, naked man who called himself Raife and his pet wolf behind her could somehow magically spirit her away. It was too late. Tears, hot and salty, fell through her fingers. She sobbed, knowing she would never be free.

A soft whine made her look up. The white wolf stood in front of her, the Scotsman’s plaid secured around her neck, completely covering her wound. Then, another wolf, this one even bigger, its black fur as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sky, appeared beside the other. Sibyl stared at it in disbelief, her breath held as its big head cocked to contemplate her. The white wolf had been tamed, but this wolf was as wild as they came. She knew it, just looking in its eyes, those bright, clear blue eyes. Was this the white wolf’s mate? She wondered this, even as she heard the hunting party’s approach, the low growl emitting from the dark wolf’s throat, and thought, not for the first time since she’d woken up that morning, that this would be the last day she drew breath.

Then the animal nosed her hands away from her face and gently licked the tears from her cheeks. His tongue was warm but she couldn’t help her instinct to move away from those big, sharp teeth.

“Is this wolf tame as well?” she managed to whisper, too afraid to look away from the pair to glance over her shoulder at Raife. “Is it… your pet?”

No answer. The black wolf gave a short, sharp bark and the white wolf howled, glancing through the trees at the horses. The horses had a much harder time negotiating the woods, the underbrush thick, the big stallions unsure in their footing. The hounds, however, had an easier time. They were drawing close. Too close.

“Raife?” Sibyl swallowed, daring to look over her shoulder, forgetting for a moment that the man was fully naked, but there was no one there.

No one at all.

“Raife?” She frowned, whipping her head around, looking for the man. Her bow and quiver were on the ground. His plaid was around the white wolf’s wounded neck. But the Scot was nowhere to be found. “Raife!”

She dared to call his name, even though it might draw the attention of Alistair’s men to her, jumping to her feet. Behind her, the black wolf barked again, a short, piercing sound. Sibyl grabbed her bow and quiver, slinging it over her shoulder as she scanned the woods. He couldn’t have disappeared into thin air!

She gasped when she felt a cold nose against her palm, a warm tongue. The black wolf moved in alongside her, forcing her hand through its thick fur as it rubbed up against her, almost like a cat might, emitting a low growl, then a plaintive whine. The animal was enormous, making the big, white wolf look small in comparison.

“They’re coming for me.” She whispered the words to the wolves—there was no one else there. Raife had disappeared, had left her alone with these animals. She knew she was alone. But if Alistair was going to catch her, she didn’t want him to kill the wolves. At the very least, she could save them. “You have to go! Run!”

She pushed hard against the black wolf, its muscular body budging only slightly. The animal growled, turning its head to look at her.

“That’s right!” she insisted, feeling tears burning her eyes. “Go ! Shoo! Go away!”

Beside her, the other wolf barked. The white wolf flanked her now, standing between Sibyl and the dogs. They were coming. They were all coming. The black wolf issued a returning bark, moving in closer, until she was pressed between the two of them, almost as if they could hide her.

“Go!” she cried, trying to push at them, but they were too big, too strong. “Please! Go!”

It happened so fast she couldn’t even react. The white wolf shoved her hard, knocking the wind out of her, and she stumbled against the black wolf. Sibyl was falling and, instinctively, she reached out for something to grab onto, and the only thing at hand was the neck of the great black wolf. Then they were running. Flying through the forest. Sibyl couldn’t scream, although she wanted to. She could barely breathe.

At first, the wolves ran side by side, keeping Sibyl from falling off the black wolf’s back. She tried hard to stay on, struggling with her heavy dress, the satchel pinned under her skirt, until she managed to get a leg securely over the wolf’s back so she was sitting astride him, like he was a horse. A horse with no saddle. A very slippery horse with no saddle.

“Dear God, help me,” she whispered, feeling something graze her temple. When she lifted a hand to her head, it came back bloody, and she saw an arrow quivering in a nearby tree. “Please help me.”

They were running so fast the forest was a blur whenever she opened her eyes, so she kept them closed, burying her face against the larger wolf’s neck. The animals ran hard, panting, and she felt the wolf’s muscles straining between her thighs with every leap over a stray log, every dodge around a tree. Beside them, the white wolf whimpered, but she managed to keep pace.

Sibyl listened for the thunder of the horses, the bark of the dogs, but miraculously, the sounds disappeared. She clung to the wolf, trembling on its back, too afraid to look up and see where they were going, too frightened to look back, wondering what had happened to the man, Raife. A sudden, horrible thought occurred to her while the wolves spirited her away as she felt blood from her temple running down her cheek.

Raife had been killed.

She was suddenly sure of it. The man had been felled by an arrow, shot by one of Alistair’s men. It was the only explanation. The thought brought such an overwhelming sadness she couldn’t help her tears. She’d known the man for all of half an hour, and yet she was sobbing, thinking of him bleeding to death in the middle of the woods. Maybe it was because, in spite of his short, gruff nature, he’d tried to protect her, and had been so gentle with the white wolf.

Sibyl sensed the temperature change around her, the cool sunlight of the woods giving way to something else. She opened her eyes to darkness, clinging to the wolf, arms tight around its neck, thighs squeezing its flanks so hard they ached. She couldn’t see her arms wrapped around the animal’s neck. Even the white wolf had disappeared from view, although she heard it panting and whimpering next to them.

“Oh Raife.” She whispered a prayer for the poor, dead man, burying her face once again against the wolf’s fur. She shivered, suddenly cold, even in all her velvet, even with the wolf’s body, flushed from its run, between her thighs. The animal slowed and she dared to open her eyes. She glimpsed a faint light as she peered around the wolf’s big head.

“Stad!” A voice echoed all around them.

She couldn‘t tell where it was coming from and Sibyl gasped, grabbing the wolf’s fur in her fists. They were underground—she knew that much. It was cold and no sun reached this place. Maybe they were in a cave? The thought of entering a wolf den with these two animals gave her a chill that went bone-deep, far worse than the chilly temperature making goose flesh rise on her skin.

But the voice that had spoken was most definitely human.

And as soon as the wolves heard it, they stopped.

The white wolf gave a quick bark and Sibyl felt the wolf beneath her growl. It rumbled through her body and the sound made her shiver. She held on tighter, even if she was afraid of the animal who carried her on its back. So far, it hadn’t done anything to hurt her—it had, in fact, carried her away from grave danger. The disembodied voice, while human, was far more unknown.

“Please,” she whispered, cheek pressed to the wolf’s soft pelt. “Don’t hurt me. Please.”

“A bheil a' Ghàidhlig agad?” the voice asked, closer now.

“I don’t understand,” she pleaded in the darkness, the figure of a man drawing nearer. “I’m an Englishwoman. I don’t—”

Beneath her, the wolf moved.

It didn’t so much move as change. The animal’s fur, thick and soft, grew sparse and then seemed to disappear altogether. One moment she was leaning forward over the wolf’s neck, nearly horizontal, and the next minute she was hanging on for dear life, her body almost completely vertical. She screamed, her cry echoing back at her, and let go, falling to a hard, rocky floor.

“Are ye hurt, lass?” The voice beside her spoke English. She understood it perfectly well. In fact, she could have sworn she recognized it. But that was impossible.

“Raife?” she whispered, feeling the man’s warmth as he knelt beside her. “Is it you? Can it be you? How…?”

“Come.” He lifted her in his arms and Sibyl put hers around him and sobbed against his neck in the darkness.

It was too much. The whole day had been too much, from her daring escape attempt to this very surreal moment as this strange man carried her past the sentry. She heard the guard say, “Siuthad!” the voice definitely male. “Càite bheil Darrow?” and the man who held her responded in Gaelic, but she was already slipping further into darkness.

She had a moment to chastise herself, knowing her father would have been appalled at such a feminine display of weakness, but her body had simply given up. She found herself disappearing down another deep, dark hole, cheek resting against the bare chest and beating heart of a man who, she could have sworn, was a giant, black wolf only moments before.

* * * *

Surely she was dreaming.

Sibyl woke on a mattress, looking around in the flickering light of an oil lamp, blinking up at the shadows and a man whose face was becoming increasingly familiar. She remembered the hunt first—her ride with Alistair into the woods, the revelation that the animal they were pursuing was a pregnant female locked in a convenient cage, her subsequent emancipation of that animal, her shooting of her fiancé, and her eventual escape—and then her capture.

Well, she didn’t exactly remember her capture, but she could only infer that it had happened. She remembered the dogs barking, the horses, the shouts of the men. She remembered huddling, trembling and sobbing like a child, on the forest floor. And then—

And then her mind had taken flight.

Surely she had been captured, taken down here into a cold, dank place with sheet rock walls that could only be in the dungeons of Alistair’s keep, and her imagination had done the rest. She couldn’t trust her memory—the wolves, the ones that had carried her to dubious safety, had been a dream. She was sure of it.

She had been sick with a very high fever once when she was a child and had dreamed all sorts of things. Her father’s huntsman had been twisted by her imagination into a bear, her mother into a vulture, her dear father into a barking dog. She knew the mind could play tricks that way.

This man, Raife—was he her jailer then? He sat beside her on a log-stump stool, still wearing only that wrapped tartan plaid, bare-chested in the dim orange glow as he pressed a cool, wet cloth to her head. She didn’t recognize him as one of Alistair’s men, but perhaps the master of the dungeon was little more than a prisoner himself, locked away down here taking care of Alistair’s mistakes, keeping her betrothed’s secrets.

“Where am I?” Her voice cracked. How long had she been asleep?

“’Ere lass.” He spoke English, but in her dream, he’d spoken Gaelic. So that must mean she really had been dreaming. Of course she had, because in her dream this man had changed from a giant, black wolf back into this human form.

“Yer wit me,” Raife reassured her. That cool cloth felt so good, and it made his hand feel even warmer as he brushed hair away from her face. “Yer safe.”

Maybe she was still dreaming, but somehow she knew this was true.

A low whine reached her ears and Sybil frowned, trying to sit up. Raife frowned his own objection but he helped her, grabbing onto her elbow and steadying her when her intention was clear.

“Easy,” he urged as she swung her feet to the floor. “You’re wounded.”

“Wounded?” She touched her head, an ache throbbing there, vaguely remembering something. Then it came back. The arrow stuck quivering in the tree. The blood trickling down her cheek. She touched her temple and felt a bandage there. It was real. That sudden realization brought a chill and she shuddered, meeting Raife’s eyes.

It was real.

It was all real.

“Wulvers?” she whispered, her lower lip trembling.

Raife gave a slow nod.

But it couldn’t be real. Her mind balked.

“Laina!” The shout echoed in the distance and Sibyl’s spine straightened.

The white wolf. Raife had called her Laina. Who was calling for her?

“Darrow.” Raife stood, glancing down at Sibyl, frowning.

Sibyl remembered that too. The sentry who had stopped them, he had asked about someone named Darrow. She didn’t know any of the other words in Gaelic, but she knew that was a name.

“Mo bràithair.” Raife took a step toward the door, that shout growing louder, calling the white wolf’s name.

“Your brother.” Sibyl stood, steadying herself against him. He was as solid and still as a tree rooted in place. “He owns the wolf?”

Her mind wouldn’t let her believe anything else.

“Darrow!” Raife called his brother’s name, opening the door. “Trobhad an seo!”

The shouting stopped but Sibyl heard footfalls heading toward them. And that low whine intensified. She located the source of the sound across the room and realized it was the wolf. She was still laboring, panting softly, and beside her was an older woman dressed in tartan plaid tending to her and a much younger word

“Laina?” Sibyl whispered the wolf’s name and her white head came up briefly. Those blue eyes locked with hers. And then she was laboring again, her side rising and falling quickly, the sound of her panting filling the room.

“Laina!” Darrow bellowed, bursting into the room. He was as tall as his brother, but lankier, not quite as broad. He had the same thick, dark hair, those piercing blue eyes that desperately searched the room for the sight of the wolf laboring on a mattress on the floor across the room.

The wolf howled and Darrow went straight to her side.

“Tiugainn!” the midwife muttered to herself, doing something Sibyl couldn’t see, but there was blood, plenty of it, on both women’s hands. The wolf actually snapped at the old woman, but she didn’t actually bite her.

“Tha e cunnartach!” The midwife shook her head, removing a hand covered in blood from the behind of the wolf. Sibyl had seen enough calves and horses born to know what was happening, but she leaned in to ask Raife for sure.

“What is it?”

“The pup is facing wrong ways,” he murmured, his eyes on the scene before them. “She is trying to turn the bairn.”

“The pup…” Sibyl frowned. “But… shouldn’t there be… more?”

Horses and cows usually carried only one offspring to term, but wolves were like dogs—they had litters. She had played with lots of puppies in the warmth of her father’s castle kitchen where the bitch would give birth in a large crate, and then the puppies would crawl all over each other in it until they were big enough to let roam.

“Wulvers birth one.”

Wulvers. Not wolves, wulvers. Raife had corrected her again and again, but Sibyl had dismissed his insistence as a language barrier. In Scotland, wolves and wulvers seemed interchangeable. At least, that’s what she had initially believed. Now, watching the white wolf, Laina, give birth, she wasn’t so sure.

“Bidh curramach!” Darrow growled at the midwife as she did something that made Laina howl in pain.

“Wulvers birth as wolves,” Raife explained as Sibyl watched, feeling weak-kneed and weak-stomached. “She cannot change while she’s laboring. ’Tis why she could not free herself.”

“From the cage?” Sibyl watched as Raife’s brother bent to press his head against Laina’s furry one. She licked his cheek, whimpering softly, and the man whispered something in Gaelic that she couldn’t quite hear and wouldn’t have understood regardless.

“It is their first bairn.” Raife put an arm around Sibyl’s waist, perhaps sensing her uneasy footing. “Nature knows its own way. Wolves birth young far easier than humans.”

Raife had caught her just in time, too, because Sibyl felt her knees buckle as the wolf pup was born. The midwife exclaimed in triumph as the slick, dark-furred creature emerged covered in a bloody sac, headfirst, as it should be. And then for the second time that day, Sibyl felt the world begin to go dark as, right before her very eyes, the white wolf Laina changed.

Sibyl told herself she was dreaming. That the naked, blonde woman and the crying babe between her open thighs had always been there. Or perhaps, the wolf was still there, and Sibyl was in the grip of a horrible fever, imagining the wolf taking human form. Her vision went dark around the edges, but she saw it all anyway.

The wolf’s body arched and moved, its snout shrinking, mouth open in what appeared to be a wide yawn that swallowed up its whole face. The animal’s limbs stiffened, muscles moving underneath, as if something were alive beneath its flesh. Then its fur slowly vanished, as if it was being pulled into its skin from the inside. The skin was as pale as a baby’s beneath, pale as any human. Everything changed, everything about her, except for the color of her bright blue eyes. Those were the same, from beginning to end. Sibyl focused her attention there, her own eyes wide with disbelief and fear.

Her eyes were telling her truths her mind didn’t want to see.

Maybe the arrow that had grazed her scalp had taken her sanity with it?

“Balach!” the old midwife announced. The younger woman cleaned the child up with a cloth and handed it to the mother.

“Balach.” The young mother’s voice was soft, her blue eyes full of tears as she met Darrow’s in the light of the lamp. “Garaith.”

“It’s a boy.” Raife smiled, his arm tightening around Sibyl’s waist as he explained this to her in hushed tones. “The next in our line. They will name him Garaith, after my father.”

The woman—she was a woman now, full figured and lovely with the longest blonde hair Sibyl had ever seen—reached for her wailing child. Laina brought the baby up to her breast, and Sibyl saw the slash there beneath the woman’s collarbone as the midwife covered her with a sheet, a little late to protect her modesty. The wound had been tended, but she would have a scar there for the rest of her life.

A bloody souvenir from Alistair’s dirk.

Sibyl remembered the way he’d slashed at the white wolf, the one she had freed from the cage. The one who couldn’t free herself, because she was carrying young and couldn’t transform from wolf to human in order to undo the latch. The one who had run through the forest beside the black wolf, the wolf that had carried Sibyl to safety, down here into its den.

The black wolf who had changed in the darkness from animal to human right under Sibyl’s very own hands—that was the man, Raife, who stood beside her. And now this animal, Laina, had turned from she-wolf to human woman before Sibyl’s very own eyes. The young she had birthed had transformed from a whining pup to a wailing human child with thick, black hair like his father.

Like his uncle.

Raife hadn’t been mistaken when he corrected her use of the word “wolf” to “wulver.”

“What magic is this?” Sibyl’s voice barely escaped her throat in a whisper. “What devilment? Who are you?”

She looked up to meet Raife’s impossibly blue eyes, saw the man, Darrow, glance back at her and frown, the woman, Laina, looking between them, concerned.

“What are you?”

For the second time that day—only the second time in her entire life—Sibyl fainted.

Chapter Four

Darrow and Raife argued in Gaelic and she couldn’t understand a word of it—until her name was mentioned. Sibyl opened her eyes to find herself in an entirely different room than she’d been in before as she listened to the men fight. Sitting up on the mattress, she saw this room was much larger than the last, with a huge fireplace carved out of one wall, a warm, inviting fire lit there. A table sat near it, set with actual dishes, silverware and napkins, something she hadn’t expected in this strange place.

Just the sight of the set table made her stomach growl. She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten and then she recalled the food she had hidden under her dress. Listening to the two men yell at each other in Gaelic and glancing occasionally toward the door to make sure no one was coming, she lifted up her skirt and unpinned her satchel. It had come partially open and she frowned, digging through, hoping she hadn’t lost anything.

The bread she’d stolen was hard but she ate it anyway. The dried fruit and jerky was tough, but tasty. Sibyl’s stomach thanked her and asked for more, but she only ate a handful of her rations, not knowing when she might need them. She knew she would have to slip out of this place the first chance she got and head south, back to the village where they had left her ladies’ maid, Rose. It had been her original plan, and while she had been waylaid by these…

Wulvers.

Sibyl shuddered, instinctively shrinking back against the stone wall as she repacked her satchel. Glancing at the table, she suddenly had a horrible thought. What if she was the one on the menu? These half-men, half-wolves certainly had to eat, didn’t they? Why wouldn’t they eat her? The one called Raife had brought her here, but it was clear his brother, Darrow, didn’t think that had been such a good idea, if the sound of them yelling and throwing things at each other was any indication.

She knew they were somewhere deep underground. Maybe inside a cave. Somewhere hidden in the mountains she had seen from her window perch at Alistair’s castle, the mountains that lay beyond the forest where they’d been hunting. They wouldn’t want anyone to know where they were hiding, would they? No, of course not. They certainly couldn’t let Sybil go, after she’d been in their den. Could they?

Her blood turned to ice water in her veins as she glanced from the set table to the doorway. There was a door, thick and heavy, but sound drifted in. The sound of the two brothers, arguing over her fate. She was sure of it. Not only had she heard the one called Raife say her name—the other one kept saying the word “shasennach.” She’d picked that up quickly, because many of Alistair’s men called her that. It mean Englishwoman, although the way the Scots said it, she might as well have heard them calling her “pig.”

Darrow said the word with the same scorn she’d heard from many of Alistair’s men.

She had been a stranger in a strange land at the MacFalon castle, but now she was in a whole other world. These creatures might look like men, but they were not. Whatever witchcraft or devilry they possessed to make them look human, they were still animals, and animals, even tame ones, could be dangerous when provoked. Even her father’s hounds would bite you if you disturbed them during a feeding. And she’d heard the animal trainer, the one who had come through with his “tame” bear, had later been mauled and killed by that same animal after he’d spent years with it.

Was Raife fighting in her favor, she wondered hopefully, ears tuned, listening for him to say her name again. She had freed the white she-wolf, after all. Maybe that would work in her favor? Or maybe… Sibyl looked again at the set table, shivering in spite of the warmth of the room.

Maybe she was going to be their dinner.

She dug into her satchel, finding the kitchen knife she had stolen wrapped in a cloth napkin. She unwrapped it and looked around for a place to hide it. Surely these creatures, even if they were something wicked and unnatural, could be killed? She would have to be ready, in any case. She stowed the satchel under the bed and had just climbed back onto the bed, looking for a place to hide the knife, when Raife opened the door and stalked into the room.

She sat and blinked at him, not saying a word, as he looked at her with her skirts hiked up past her knees, something that once would have made her blush with modesty, but the past day’s events had changed her. The only flush that crept into her cheeks came because she realized she’d been caught with the knife she’d been planning to hide sitting right next to her on the bed.

“Ye plannin’ to knife me in me sleep, lass?” Raife glanced from Sibyl to the knife, his gaze lingering curiously on her slim calves in their short stockings and garters before she flipped the torn, muddy fabric of her gown back over them.

“Of course not.” But her hand moved to touch the knife at her side, her eyes never leaving his.

“It must all seem very strange to ye,” he said softly, taking a step closer to crouch down to eye-level next to the bed.

“A bit.” She swallowed, her hand involuntarily clenching the knife, wondering if she could stab him before he changed into a wolf and snapped her neck in his big jaws. Not that the man had to change into any fantastical creature to kill her. He could easily snap her neck in his big hands, too.

“I will not hurt ye.” He held his hand out for the knife, his eyes soft, kind, as light as a blue summer sky. Sibyl hesitated, glancing down at the weapon in her hand, knowing it was useless against him if he was lying, but still unable to let it go.

“All right, lass, have it yer way. Keep the knife.” He sighed and stood, looking down at her in the firelight. “Are ye hungry? Stale bread and jerky isn’t much, even for a skinny lass like yerself.”

“I’m not skinny!” she protested, moving to stand too, knife in hand. She barely came to his shoulder and had to look way up to meet those startling blue eyes of his. How had he known what she’d eaten? She wondered, frowning up at the raised eyebrows on his smirking face.

“Ye can keep yer pack, too,” he told her. “The one under the bed.”

“How—?”

“Wulvers have a keen sense a smell.” He tapped his decidedly human nose, but Sibyl was remembering the wolf’s snout, the way he’d licked the tears from her face in the woods. Was it really possible, to transform from human and wolf and back again? She had seen it with her own eyes when the she-wolf changed and still, her mind didn’t want to accept.

“I had’ em set a table for ye in here,” he explained, nodding at the dishes. “Thought you might like some stew.”

“No, thank you.” Her stomach growled audibly and he arched his eyebrows again, a gesture that Sibyl found infuriating. Almost as infuriating as being called “skinny.” And “lass.”

“’Tis just rabbit.” He smiled like he could read her mind, going over to the fire and using a long, thick pole with a hooked end to lift a black iron pot. “We don’t eat humans, Sibyl.”

“Ever?” She licked her lips when he plucked the lid from the pot and the smell of stew wafted through the room. Her body clamored for real food, making her knees feel weak.

“Not for twenty years,” he assured her, picking up a ladle from the table and dishing out a bowl of the heavenly-scented stuff. “I’ve never tasted a human.”

“That’s comforting,” she said wryly, watching him dish up a second bowl before he put them both on the table and hung the pot back over the fire. She couldn’t help staring at the fireplace, wondering at its sheer size, the way it was literally carved right out of the mountain’s surface.

“Where does the smoke go?” she wondered aloud, edging closer to the fireplace, unable to help her curiosity.

“Ye are a keen one, aren’t ya?” He grinned, sitting at the table and leaning back to look at her, that amused smile still on his face. “Have you ever gone swimmin’ in a hot spring?”

“No.” She shook her head. She’d heard of them—warm pools that heated all by themselves. They had them in Bath. “But I’ve heard tell of them. I didn’t know there were any in Scotland?”

“Aye, just but a few, up’ere in the mountains,” he explained, sticking a spoon into his bowl of stew and stirring it around. The scent of rabbit meat and gravy and vegetables drew Sibyl even nearer. Raife nodded toward his steaming bowl. “They give off steam, ya ken? So we made our chimneys so the smoke, it looks just like steam rising up from the pools. No one’s the wiser.”

“Ingenious.” She slid into the seat across from him, glancing down at the bowl of stew he’d ladled for her. The dishes were made of metal, pewter perhaps, she thought. The spoons were wooden. She put her knife on the table.

“Rabbit?” she asked, putting her nose closer to the delicious smelling concoction.

“Aye, jus’rabbit.” He lifted the spoon to his lips. “Ye’ve tasted rabbit afore?”

“Of course,” she scoffed, putting a spoon into the bowl and stirring it around. It certainly smelled like rabbit. She took a taste and moaned softly, closing her eyes in bliss. Food! Her stomach clenched, asking for more.

“Go’head, lass,” he said, taking another spoonful himself. “It won’t bite ye.”

“What about you?”

“I won’t bite ye either.” He smiled softly, cocking his head at her in the soft, orange glow of the fire. “If we were going to kill ye, don’tcha think we would have done it already?”

“Mayhaps.” She continued to spoon stew in, warming her clamoring belly, hoping that logic was sound. In truth, this man had been far better to her in the space of just a day than her betrothed had been to her in the entire month she’d known him. Raife had saved her from Alistair’s wrath—and his pursuing men. This man had carried her to safety, had bandaged her wounds, had taken her in, knowing his brother, and likely his whole pack, would object. He had given her food and shelter and had asked for naught in return.

The only problem was, this man could change into an animal at any moment.

Of course, apparently, so could her betrothed. They were just different sorts of animals, she mused. And she was beginning to think that these creatures—wolves, wulvers, whatever they were called—might be preferable.

“Thank you for the food.” She glanced up at the man eating across from her. His chest was bare and strangely hairless in the firelight, his plaid secured around his waist with a thick leather belt. She would have expected far more fur on a man who was a wolf half of the time, but all his hair appeared to be on his dark head. “It is far better than jerky and dried fruit.”

“How much did ye have packed in that bag under ye skirts?” he asked, looking pointedly at her torn, tattered clothing. She’d been grateful for the fabric when she’d had to hide her satchel underneath.

“A few days, maybe a weeks’ worth,” she replied, scraping her bowl with her spoon, sad the stew had disappeared so quickly. “But I’m skinny, I don’t need much.”

“A’course.” He chuckled, taking her bowl back over to the fire and spooning more stew into it. “And where were you runnin’ off to?”

“Back…” She almost said ‘home,’ but she didn’t have one of those anymore. And she couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of the village where they’d left Rose. “Toward York.”

“York is home then?” He placed another full bowl of stew in front of her and she grabbed her spoon, digging in greedily.

“It was.” She nodded, talking through mouthfuls of stew. “My mother and uncle… he’s really my stepfather now, I suppose… they live in York.”

“And ye were promised to Alistair?” The man took his seat again, leaning back and crossing his arms as he studied her. “Laird of clan MacFalon?”

“Yes, but…” She swallowed a bite of stew, meeting those blue eyes across the table. He missed nothing, this man. “I didn’t want to marry him.”

“That explains why you put an arrow in’im?” Raife’s eyes pinned her to her seat.

“I suppose.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “But he deserved it.”

“Ye will nuh get an argument from me about that.” He shook his head, the dark look in his eyes clear enough. Her betrothed’s reputation preceded him. “I should’na brought you here, lass. My brother is naught right about much, but was right about that.”

“I can be on my way tonight,” she assured him, although she wasn’t as sure as she sounded. She didn’t like the idea of staying here in this wolf den—but the thought of being out there on her own in the forest at night, not knowing if Alistair’s men were still searching for her, also made her hesitate. “Is it… night?”

“Ye will stay the night ’ere,” he told her firmly. “I will take ye back in the mornin’.”

“Take me back…?” She couldn’t go back, not to Alistair and Castle MacFalon, not ever.

“I will escort ye wherever ye like, Sybil.” He spoke her name softly. It was tender in his mouth, even sweet. She’d never had anyone say her name like that in all her years and didn’t understand her own reaction. It made her feel soft inside, as soft as his tartan plaid, as soft as the fur at the nape of the black wolf’s neck where she’d clung to him as they rode through woods. “All the way back to York, if that is yer wish, lass. Ye saved Laina’s life. It’s the least we can do for ye.”

Sybil hadn’t forgotten about the white she-wolf, about the way she had transformed before her very eyes. The image was burned into her memory. And while it was true that she’d saved the wolf from her cage, it had felt, to Sibyl, that she had been somehow saving herself.

“Is she… are they…?”

“They are well, she and the bairn.” He smiled, eyes softening at her concern. “I am sorry if our argument scared ye. Darrow was worried about his new bride. They should’na have left ’ere, with her so close to pup.”

“She was captured by the MacFalon huntsman.”

“Aye.” He agreed. “And she could’na change form, not in her state.”

“So you… how do you…do what you do?” Sibyl cocked her head, wondering at it. “Does everyone here change? Are you all… wulvers?”

She couldn’t believe her own questions, given how impossible, how incredible it all seemed. Thinking about it still made her a little woozy, but she couldn’t continue to deny what she’d seen with her very own eyes nor could she just continue to faint at the thought of something so unnatural. The facts were the facts. The she-wolf Laina had transformed, and so had this man.

“You’re a curious little thing.” He smiled. “We are what we are. And have always been.”

So he didn’t want to talk about it. She sat back, still feeling woozy, but for a whole different reason.

“I’m stuffed.” She gave a satisfied sigh.

“Would ye like a bath?” he asked. “Ye can soak in one of the hot springs. Kirstin will show you…”

“No.” She shook her head, eyes widening at the thought of being so vulnerable in such a strange place. She’d let her guard down enough to stuff herself full of food.

“We will not harm ye, lass,” he assured her for the umpteenth time. “I saved ye from being captured by the laird’s men, a’member? I promise no harm will come to ye here.”

“I don’t doubt you…” She met his eyes, knowing it was true. In spite of the strangeness of her predicament, in spite of the apparent reality of this new world, where men turned to wolves and back again, she believed him. “But your brother, Darrow? He sounded like he might have been considering having shasennach for dinner.”

Raife laughed at her use of the Gaelic word.

“He’s angry I brought ye here.” The man shrugged his big, heavily muscled shoulders. “But ye freed Laina. I could’na let you stay out there alone. Not with MacFalon’s men searching for ye.”

“I don’t know…” Sibyl glanced toward the doorway, considering her options. “Maybe I should just go now…”

If they were really going to let her go, she thought, she needed to do so as soon as possible, before they changed their minds. If Darrow was angry about her being there, he would only grow angrier over time.

“It’s dark and there’s no moon. You would’na get far.” Raife shook his head, eyes narrowing. “’Tis not safe out there.”

“I’m not sure it’s safe in here,” she murmured, remembering Darrow’s anger, the way he spat the word shasennach.

“Trust me, we can’na kill a human. It would bring King Henry and all of your kind down on our heads, because of the pact,” Raife informed her. “Not that your betrothed wasn’t already breaking it.”

“The pact?” She cocked her head, puzzled, as someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Raife called.

“Are ye finished then?” A pretty, young girl with long, curly, dark blonde hair peeked around the door, dimples showing as she smiled at Raife. She wore plaid too, as a skirt, belted at the waist, but underneath it was a long-sleeved, saffron tunic. Her legs were bare though, and so were her feet. It was still strange to Sybil that Scots women went around with their hair uncovered and so much of their skin bared.

“Thank ye, Kirstin.” He smiled at the girl, waving her into the room. “Will ye take Lady Sibyl to me private spring for a hot bath and get ’er something… else… to wear?”

“A’course!” Kirsten agreed, smiling at Sibyl, and she suddenly recognized her. This was the young woman who had tended the birth with the old midwife. “I’ll take these to the kitchen and bring something back for ye.”

“No, you don’t have to.” Sibyl shook her head, glancing down at her dress. It was torn and dirty, but it would be quite warm. She’d lost her hat—not that it had been much protection—and her wrap too, but this dress would serve her well out there in the woods, she thought. “I’ll be fine in this.”

“You can’na wear that.” Kirstin wrinkled her brown little nose. She was a brown girl, all over, her arms and legs, even the tops of her feet. She spent time in the sun, Sibyl thought, watching the girl clear their bowls and spoons, putting them onto a wooden tray she’d carried in with her. “I’ll get ye a proper plaid. And ye must have somethin to sleep in. I’ll be righ’back.”

Something to sleep in. That, of course, begged the question—where was she to sleep? Here, in this room? With… him? Sibyl glanced up, meeting his dancing blue eyes, and she could have sworn he was reading her very thoughts. She felt her cheeks redden, her body warming all the way to her toes. There was only one bed in this room, and it while it was plenty big enough for two, that was hardly the point.

“This room is yours, while you’re here.” Raife stood, nodding at the mattress Sibyl had woken up on. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

“But… isn’t this your room?” She frowned, glancing around at the walls decorated with claymores and crossed swords. She had a feeling they weren’t all for show, like they appeared to be in Alistair’s castle. “I can’t take your room. Please, I don’t need—”

“I will’na hear of it.” Raife held up his hand, shaking his head and smiling as he looked down into her eyes. She felt like she could get lost in them, the way she did on warm, lazy days, watching clouds drift by. “Ye take yerself a bath, Lady Sibyl. Get a good night’s rest. We’ll talk more in the mornin’.”

He turned to go, but she couldn’t let him. Not without saying it. She reached out and touched his wrist, thick and heavily veined under her palm as she clasped it in her hand. Raife glanced down at where she touched him, then his gaze skipped to meet hers. Those eyes turned dark, from blue skies to the deepest part of the ocean.

“Thank you.” She swallowed, sliding her hand down into his, squeezing gently. His hand was so big, it swallowed hers. “I… don’t know how to thank you.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked down at their hands, locked together, then back into her eyes. She thought she just might lose herself in them, truly. Was she under some sort of spell? Bewitched? Is that how it worked? Her heart hammered. Her breath quickened. Her skin felt too tight, all over, as if she couldn’t quite contain herself.

“Ye were brave, lass.” His voice was low, eyes soft, as he lifted his other hand to touch her cheek. His fingers were rough, calloused, tracing the line of her jaw. “So very brave… yer father would’ve been proud.”

His words brought tears to her eyes. Her lower lip quivered and she swallowed, trying to hold them in, but they wouldn’t stay back. They spilled over, down her cheeks, and Raife moved to cup her face in his hands, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.

“G’nite.” He took a step back, turning toward the door as Kirstin came in, carrying clothes.

“Good night,” Sibyl called. She saw him hesitate, give a brief nod, and then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

She stared after him, remembering what he’d said that had brought her to tears. She had been thinking about her father just before she had freed the she-wolf, saying that very same thing to herself. He would have been proud. And while she believed it was true, the thing she couldn’t quite understand was—how had Raife known that?

How had he known?

Chapter Five

Sibyl gave all her clothes to Kirstin and, after a long soak in the hot spring—where she nearly fell asleep and might have drowned if the Scotswoman hadn’t come in—she let the girl wash and dress her for bed like a child and tuck her in, too. Sibyl’s eyes closed all on their own. She couldn’t keep them open. The girl moved around the room, straightening and singing to herself, but Sibyl was only peripherally aware. The day had been long and she was exhausted. Before she fell asleep, she caught the scent of Raife on her pillow. It was the last thing she remembered, smiling to herself, until she woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a baby crying.

She woke with a start, the room cool—the fire had burned low—not knowing where she was. Then it came back to her in an instant. She remembered everything. Everything. And the chill wasn’t all that made her shudder. She was in a wolves’ den and, if any of them wanted to kill her, that door wouldn’t keep them out. Sibyl put her head back down on the pillow—it still smelled like Raife—and tried to sleep again.

But the baby continued to cry.

She tried to judge how close it was. Things seemed to echo down here. Sound was strange. But it sounded very close. Right next door mayhaps. Laina’s baby? Was it ill? The sound went on and on. The baby was frantic now.

Sibyl got up, glancing around for something to put on, but her dress was gone. She was wearing her underwear and a long shirt that came to mid-thigh. There was a plaid on the chair and a leather belt. Sibyl did her best, cinching the belt around her waist over her nightshirt, so the plaid hung just past her bare knees, and then pulled the extra plaid fabric over her shoulder, tucking it into her belt. She considered going out into the hallway barefoot—she couldn’t find her stockings or garters—but the mountain floor was cold, so she tied her soft soled shoes on before opening the big door to her room.

The sound of the baby crying was louder here. It was a lusty, wailing cry. The poor thing sounded hungry. Sibyl crept down the dark hall, heart thudding hard in her chest, hoping she wouldn’t run into any wolves. She didn’t exactly relish coming face-to-face with an animal in the darkness, even if Raife had assured her that none of them meant her any harm.

“Laina?” Sibyl called the woman’s name outside the next door. The baby’s cry was definitely coming from there and, as far as she knew, this was the room she had woken up in. This was where the white she-wolf had birthed her baby. She knocked, waiting for an answer. “Laina? Are you in there?”

She told herself she should just go back to her room, close the door, and ignore it. This wasn’t her place, it wasn’t her child. She told herself, while she was at it, she should probably just go back to her room, grab her satchel, and slip out of this place in the middle of the night. But she did neither. Instead, she put her hand on the latch and pushed. The door swung open.

“Laina?” Sibyl saw the woman on the mattress near the fire, her back bare, the sheet pulled up. The baby was beside her on the mattress, waving his fists in the air, his face red from crying. Hungry, she thought. She had been an only child but she had spent enough time in the small village near York, playing with the seamstress’s babies, and she knew that cry.

The midwife and her assistant were gone. She wondered where Darrow was, but mayhaps, like many animals, male wolves were a danger to their own young? She couldn’t remember enough about wolves and their behavior, cursing the fact they’d been outhunted in England by mid-century. Was Laina so exhausted from the birth she slept right through the babe’s cries?

“Are you all right?” Sibyl crept closer, suddenly imagining this woman turning back into the great, white wolf she had been, imagined the wolf seeing a human approaching her baby, seeing her as a threat and tearing Sibyl’s throat out.

In spite of that image, in spite of her fear, Sibyl crept forward. She touched the woman’s shoulder and Laina moaned softly, but didn’t wake, even when Sibyl shook her.

“Laina?” Sibyl reached down, scooping the baby up in her arms in hopes of comforting and quieting it, at least for the moment, turning the woman toward her with her other hand.

That’s when she saw the blood on the sheet and all over the mattress. Laina was bleeding, and badly. Sibyl felt the oppressive cold of the mountain overtake her. She’d watched women bleed to death in childbirth. Every woman she’d ever known who had become heavy with child was terrified of dying during the process.

“Laina! Wake up!”

Sibyl shook the woman, hard. If she could keep her awake, it would help mitigate the blood loss. How much could one person lose before they died? Sibyl wondered. She’d watched her father’s men bleed from injuries before and had helped the healer on more than one occasion. One man had lost a leg to the tusk of a boar and she had watched the healer tie it off with his belt and save the man. But how could you ebb this flow of blood? She couldn’t cinch the poor woman in the middle! She tried to remember the births she’d attended with the healer, looking to jog her memory.

“Shh, shhhhh,” Sibyl hefted the baby up on her shoulder, pulling the sheet back, seeing blood pooling between the woman’s bare legs. “It’s all right, little one. Let’s take care of your mama so you can eat, hungry baby.”

She talked to herself, pressing the woman’s abdomen, watching more blood seep out between her thighs. This was bad. Very bad.

“What are you doing?” Raife’s voice startled her and Sibyl gasped, whirling to see him standing in the doorway. “I saw you leave your room.”

Saw her. Where had he been, she wondered, that he saw her leave? She hadn’t seen him in the darkness. Of course, she couldn’t see in the dark and had simply followed the sound of the baby crying. Could wulvers see in the dark? She wondered, meeting those bright blue eyes.

“I heard the baby,” she explained. “It wouldn’t stop crying. I thought… I wondered… I think… I think she needs help. She’s bleeding and I can’t wake her.”

“Laina?” Raife frowned, stepping into the room, unmindful of the woman’s nude body or any modicum of modesty. “Where is Darrow?”

“I do not—”

“Laina, I brought the—” Darrow stopped in the doorway, seeing his brother standing over his wife’s bleeding form, Sibyl holding his child. The tall man snarled at her and Sibyl shrank back. “Get out of here!”

“She is hurt, brother.” Raife took a step between Sibyl and Darrow, one hand on his brother’s chest keeping the man away from Sibyl’s trembling form.

“I brought Kirstin.” Darrow frowned, looking down in concern at Laina’s inert form. “I woke and she was bleeding. I—”

“I need more to stop this!” Kirstin was already on her knees, using the bloody sheet between the woman’s legs. “Darrow! More cloth, or she will die!”

“It’s so much blood.” Raife’s eyes were wide with fear and Sibyl didn’t blame him. Birthing was bloody, dangerous business.

“It happens, sometimes,” Sybil said softly, hoping Darrow didn’t hear her.

“I’ve never seen a wolf bleed like this after a birth!” Kirstin protested, grabbing the cloth Darrow brought, trying to stem the blood flow, but it was useless.

“Women do,” Sybil countered. “Women die in childbirth all the time.”

“But wulvers do not!” Kirstin snapped. She was afraid too—terrified. Sybil was surprised by their reaction. In her world, everyone knew this could happen. “I have never seen this. Get Beitris, Darrow! Quickly!”

Darrow ran. The old midwife might know what to do, but Sibyl wasn’t sure she would, if it was true that wulvers did not bleed out this way after birth. There wasn’t time for consulting texts. Sibyl knew what to do for this kind of bleed, had learned on the knee of her father’s healer, and remembered as much as she was going to.

“Do you have dried goldenrod?” Sibyl asked Kirstin. The girl was up to her elbows in blood over Laina’s inert form. “Shepherd’s purse?”

“No.” Kirstin shook her head helplessly, meeting Sybil’s eyes. She saw tears in them. Laina would certainly die without intervention and the girl knew it.

“I saw some on the way in,” Sibyl murmured. She had, although how she remembered it, given the circumstances, she couldn’t quite explain, except that, like her father had taught her, she had an awareness of her surroundings most people did not. “But it is the middle of the night. I would not be able to find it. And she does not have until morning.”

Raife touched Sybil’s arm, alarm in his eyes. There was no time for panic.

“Do you have cayenne?” Sybil asked Kirstin. “To add heat, for cooking?”

“We do have some!” Kirstin brightened. “In the kitchen!”

“Good!” Sybil nodded, “Get it. Stir a teaspoon into boiling water. Make her to drink it scalding hot. She will not want to. Force her.”

Darrow showed up with Beitris, the old midwife, whose eyes grew even wider than Kirstin’s at the amount of blood on the bed.

“Take the babe,” Sybil instructed the old midwife as Kirstin ran out, hands still covered in blood, to look for the cayenne. “And put him at her breast. Make him suckle.”

The baby was still mewling with hunger, his face turning back and forth, rooting.

“Should’na be a problem, he’s starving.” Beitris knelt with the child, tucking it in against Laina’s pale body. “But won’t it cause her to lose more fluid?”

Beside them, Darrow howled. It was an inhuman sound that rose the hackles on the back of Sibyl’s neck. There was so much pain in the sound, it would have brought Sybil to her own knees if Raife hadn’t been beside her, holding tight to her elbow.

“No, it will help,” Sybil assured the old woman. The baby had latched on already, suckling, greedy. She looked up, meeting Raife’s concerned gaze. “I hope it will help enough before we can get back.”

“We?” He stared at her, aghast.

“Take me back into the woods.” Sibyl looked up at him, remembering the breakneck speed the wolves had run on the way in. “We will find what we need.”

Raife met his brother’s eyes, a low communication passing between them.

“We will be right back, brother. She will live. Sybil knows what to do.” Raife looked down at Sybil, taking her small hand in his giant one as he led her into the dark hallway, and she hoped against hope that the words he spoke were true. She stopped for a moment in her room to empty her packed satchel out onto the bed.

“Hang on tight,” he instructed, his eyes grim in the tunnel’s torchlight.

“I will.”

She couldn’t watch. Instead, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck and she felt him shift. Firm, hard, hairless flesh transformed into softness and fur, the muscle and bone changing underneath. She didn’t understand this magic, but she didn’t have time to think about it, because Raife was running, and she was riding.

They passed the sentry without stopping and he did not stop them, likely recognizing Raife needed no challenge or permission. Raife had been right—there was no moon and it was so dark she could see nothing. She would have to rely on Raife’s sense of smell and sight.

“You’ll know the goldenrod,” Sybil told him. “It smells like old, wet socks.”

He found it right away. The wolf shook his big head and sneezed as she gathered it in by the armfuls, shoving it into the satchel she’d emptied for this purpose.

“Shepherd’s purse smells like…” Sibyl frowned, trying to think how to describe it. But the wolf howled. He’d found it a ways down the path and came back to lead her to it in the darkness. She tripped over rocks and had to steady herself against his thickly muscled hide.

“Pungent, isn’t it?” Sibyl made a face, yanking the shepherd’s purse up by the roots. “But it will do the job. I hope. Hurry, Raife. Get us back.”

He howled, a sound that shook her to her bones as she grabbed onto his neck and he ran like the wind. The entrance to the cave, hidden even during the day time, was a black hole. Sibyl clung to him, hoping what was in her satchel might save a woman’s life tonight.

“Boil this!” Sibyl slid off Raife as he skidded just past the doorway where she knew Laina lay near death. She didn’t wait for him before bursting into the room, already pulling the pungent herbs from the satchel and handing them over to a stunned, worried-looking Kirstin. “You’re going to make a tea for her to drink.”

“Laina?” Sibyl sat beside the woman. She was more lucid, the baby at her breast being held there by Darrow. “Can you hear me?”

The blonde woman shook her head, moaning, but it was a good sign.

“Her belly is still distended.” Sibyl pressed down hard on it and Laina howled. Good. More blood seeped from between her legs into the absorbent cloth. The sac where the baby had been housed in Laina’s belly needed to firm up, contract, and grow smaller. The same contractions that had pushed the baby out would make that happen.

“What are ye doin’?” Beitris frowned. “Ye are making her bleed more!”

“Leave her be,” Raife snapped. He was human again—Sibyl didn’t need to look around to know that, she heard it in his voice. “She knows what to do.”

He had more confidence in her than Sibyl actually possessed but she was grateful for the vote of confidence. Kirstin already had the goldenrod and shepherd’s purse in a pot of boiling water over the fire.

“Massage her like this.” Sibyl showed the old woman, who frowned but did as she was told. Raife stood over them, watching, as Kirstin poured the hot herb water into a tin cup.

“Something is firming in her,” Beitris observed, glancing between Laina’s legs. “I think the blood is ebbing.”

“Yes,” Sibyl blew on the surface of the cup, smelling the goldenrod and shepherd’s purse. It was enough to make her want to gag. “Kirstin, help sit her up a little.”

Darrow did it instead, taking the baby off its mother’s breast to do so. Kirstin took the baby, who wailed at being taken away from his mother, but Sibyl had to get the concoction down the woman’s throat. Laina moaned but swallowed, her eyes half-opening, focused for a moment on Sybil, then on her husband. There was a recognition in those eyes that gave Sybil hope. Laina knew where she was, who she was, who this man was to her. She was still here on this side of the veil then.

“Thank you.” Darrow choked out the words as they put Laina back down on the mattress. It was ruined, soaked in blood, and Sybil wondered how someone could lose so much and still be breathing. It was a miracle. “’Tis the second time you have saved her life.”

“I’m glad I could help.” Sybil looked up at Kirstin who was holding the crying child in her arms. “Keep that baby nursing as much as possible.”

“He seems to have a great appetite,” Raife observed as Kirstin knelt to put him back at Laina’s breast. “He is your son, without a doubt, brother.”

Raife’s hand fell to Darrow’s shoulder and Sibyl saw tears brimming in the younger brother’s eyes as his own hand covered Raife’s larger one.

“And keep her drinking this,” Sibyl instructed, pointing to the pot of boiling herbs. “All night long.”

“I will stay awake with her,” Darrow assured her as Sibyl stood. “Thank you again.”

“I’m right next door if you need me.” Sibyl didn’t want to go, but the immediate danger had passed, and Raife insisted. He barked orders, telling the old midwife and Kirstin to clean Laina up, Darrow to get men to dispose of the old mattress and retrieve a new one.

Then Raife walked her to the room next door where he turned her to him, his big hands on her shoulders. He made her feel so small in stature in his presence, but she never felt small within. That was likely what made him a leader, she realized—man, wolf or wulver.

“I have never seen anything like that before,” Raife said softly, glancing down the hall where men carried out the bloody mattress. “I’m so glad ye were here. We would’na’ve known what to do.”

Sybil just nodded. She didn’t know what to say to that.

“This is why wulvers change when they birth.” Raife’s eyes hardened. “Females cannot change back while pupping. Wulvers do not experience the same dangers as humans during birth. It is their blessing and curse.”

“I don’t understand.” Sybil frowned, opening the door to her room as two men moved in behind them, carrying a clean mattress for Laina, making more room for them in the tunnel hallway.

“Lilith’s curse.” Raife stood in the doorway, filling it with his big frame, not coming in, although she moved into the room to sit on the edge of the bed. She thought she had been exhausted before. Now she was dead-tired. “The first wulver was the daughter of Lilith.”

“Adam’s first wife?” She cocked her head at him. “From the Bible?”

“The same,” he agreed. “Humans descended from Eve. Wulvers descended from Lilith.”

Sybil considered this new information, trying to absorb it.

“Lilith was cursed by God to give birth to demons,” Raife said softly, reminding Sybil of the old Biblical story. She was far more familiar with the story of Adam and Eve, of course—that was the story of her own ancestors, of an evil, wicked, wanton woman who tempted her mate into wickedness—but occasionally Lilith was mentioned in church as God’s first, failed attempt at creating woman. It seemed her gender was difficult to get just right.

“We are those demon descendants,” Raife told her. “Half-human, half-wolf. We live in the borderland between worlds. Sybil? Are you all a’right?”

She felt faint again at his words, although she told herself she was not, under any circumstances, going to faint. Not again. But her eyes closed and the world spun anyway.

“Sibyl?” Raife was close to her now, squatting next to the bed, holding her up.

“It’s been a long day.” She opened her eyes and half-smiled at him. “It’s a lot to take in all at once. Wulvers… half-human, half-wolf. The… descendants of Lilith, you say?”

“Aye.” He brushed hair away from her face, smiling softly. “Ye should sleep, lass. Ye worked hard this day.”

“So did you.” She cocked her head at him. “And Laina. Poor thing. She worked hardest of all.”

“Wulver females aren’t like human women.” Raife spoke the obvious, but his face was pale, his eyes betraying him, showing fear he clearly had never experienced in the same away before. “They are cursed, but differently.”

“Eve and her descendants were cursed with the pain of childbirth,” Sybil sighed. “Always afraid of pain and death.”

“Aye.” Raife’s eyes clouded. “But Lilith was a’cursed as the bearer of demon seed. “

“Demons… are you demons then?” she murmured, frowning at the thought. She’d seen drawn depictions of demons with horns and red skin. These wulvers, whatever they were, did not appear evil, or even unnatural. Although, in their human form, the way Raife appeared in front of her now, they seemed extra-human, as if they’d been taken directly from the pages of some ancient text.

“We are what we are.” Raife sighed. “Some of us accept that better’n others.”

“Darrow…?” She met his eyes, questioning. There was something in Raife’s tone that made her think of his brother and Raife nodded sadly.

“Darrow and Laina too.” He glanced toward the door, as if his brother might be standing there, listening to what he had to say. “They believe they can change the way we are. But we’ve always been this way and always will be.”

“Change…?” Sybil frowned. “How?”

“It is a silly legend.” Raife waved the idea away. “Chasing rainbows. There’s supposed to be a plant that can keep wulvers from changing into wolves. The huluppu tree.”

“The… that’s… a type of willow, isn’t it?” Sybil remembered it from her teachings with the healer and her father. They had taught her to read and identify all the names of the plants.

“They have gone out, searching the woods for it,” Raife said, his eyes hardening at the thought. “That is where they were when she was caught. I told him she should’na be out, so close to pup.”

“It is supposed to keep you from changing?” Sybil tried to remember everything she knew about the huluppu. It was just another variation of willow, although it wasn’t anywhere near as abundant as some of the others. “Willow… willow is a pain reliever. But it keeps the blood from clotting!”

Sibyl sat straight up, eyes wide.

“Was she eating the willow?” Sybil gasped. “That explains why she was bleeding so much!”

“And it did’na even work.” Raife scoffed, shaking his dark head. “She still changed.”

“I wonder…” Sibyl considered the possibilities. Could a plant really stop a wulver’s transformation, like barley stopped burns or buckbean killed intestinal worms?

“I know Laina thinks it is unfair. And she has reason to fear the change. Males can change at will,” Raife explained. “Females… they have no choice. They change when they pup. They change when they go into heat.”

“Heat?” Sybil cocked her head, trying to work out what he was saying, and then she understood, feeling her own cheeks filling with heat.

“Moon blood…?” he explained, smiling at the way her cheeks pinked up.

“Menses.” Sybil blushed even brighter, saying the word in a man’s presence. Even she knew you didn’t talk about such things in front of menfolk. But she couldn’t help thinking about Laina—poor Laina. She was tied more to her body and its cycles than Sybil had ever thought about being. And here she’d believed she was limited by her gender!

“I will look for this willow before I am on my way,” Sybil decided with sudden determination. She would help Laina and her kind, if she could. It would be good to liberate the wulver woman from her gender’s prison, even if she couldn’t change her own.

“Ye will go t’sleep and we’ll discuss it on the morrow.” Raife was giving orders again. He stood, an imposing figure in his plaid, thick arms crossed over his broad chest.

“I will find it.” Sybil’s chin stuck out in defiance, more determined than ever.

“I believe ye.” He chuckled, turning to go. “Thank ye for what ye did for her. She is as much like a sister to me as Darrow is brother.”

“And Kirstin?” Sybil’s cheeks reddened when Raife hesitated at the doorway to turn and look at her. She didn’t know why she’d asked, but the words had escaped her mouth before she could stop them.

“Kirstin?” Raife smiled, looking amused. “What about her, lass?”

“I just….noticed the way she looked at you.” Sibyl squirmed on the bed, feeling his gaze pinned on her. She couldn’t help but notice the way Kirstin looked at him, like he was some sort of a god, or God himself. Not that she blamed the girl, not in the least.

“And what way is that?”

“The way a woman… looks at a man… who…” she stammered.

Oh damn him, she thought, unable to get the rest of the words out.

“I have no mate, Sybil,” he told her, his words soft but clear, those blue, blue eyes trained right on her, seeing into her, into parts and places she had yet to even explore herself. “There is no woman or wulver who has been marked by me.”

Marked. She wanted to know what that meant, but she was afraid to ask.

“G’nite, lass.” He moved to close the door but Sybil stopped him once again with her words.

“Where are you going?” she called.

“I will be right outside,” he assured her, smiling around the door’s edge.

“In that drafty tunnel hallway?” She frowned, glancing around the big room. “No. Sleep here. I insist.”

“Here?” His eyebrows went up when he looked at her and Sibyl swallowed at the heat in his gaze. “With you?”

“Oh, I mean…” She blinked, biting her lip. “You can sleep by the fire. Or have another mattress brought in…”

“Your reputation will’na survive until morning, I’m afraid,” Raife said softly. The look in his eyes warmed her from head to toe and she tried to ignore her body’s response.

“My reputation?” Sibyl gave a short, strangled laugh. The memory of Alistair and her uncle and their concern for her reputation seemed very far away in this strange place. “I don’t care about my reputation anymore.”

“You will,” he assured her with a short nod. “If you want to return to your world.”

If. Not when, if. As if it was a question. And was it? She wondered. She wouldn’t have thought twice about it a few hours ago, would have jumped on the first horse she could find and rode hell-bent on getting away from this place, away from Scotland, away. Away.

But she had been so focused on running away, she hadn’t considered where she might be running to.

“I’ll be right outside,” he told her again, once more pulling at the door.

And Sybil interrupted him yet again.

“This is silly!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in helpless desperation. “This room is big, there’s a fire. You can’t sleep in the hallway. You’ll catch your death!”

“No.” His gaze didn’t move from her face, his eyes saying so much, his mouth so little. “I can’na sleep in here.”

“Why not?” she protested.

“Because…” He hesitated just a moment before finishing his sentence. “I can’na trust myself around ye.”

“Trust yourself…” She laughed again, she couldn’t help it. “To do what? Not eat me?”

He smiled back at her, but there was no humor in it. In fact, the look in his eyes told her he was far from joking. Everything about him bespoke of the seriousness of his words, even though they might have been spoken in jest.

“That’s na’what I’m hungry for when I look at ye, lass.”

Sybil couldn’t answer that. There weren’t words. She felt the heat of his gaze on her body as if he had touched her with his admission, as if he’d undressed her in an instant and had his way with her. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even think.

He seemed to understand her sudden silence. That understanding was in his gaze as he dropped it to the floor and murmured, “G’nite,” for one final time before he pulled the door closed.

Chapter Six

It felt as if no time had passed at all when Kirstin knocked and entered her room in the morning. Maybe it was because it was still dark—there were no windows here, no sunlight streamed in to tickle her nose. Sibyl was still bone-tired but she got up, knowing she had a long way to walk today. And the next. And the day after that. She had no idea how long it was going to take to get back to Rose’s village, but however long it took her, she was going to have to stay off the roads, avoid Alistair’s men, and somehow stay dry, warm and fed.

Had Raife meant it when he said he would escort her wherever she wanted to go? There were no horses here, but if she could travel on a wolf, or even with one, she would feel far safer. The thought of traveling with him made her feel warm, even in spite of the room’s early morning chill.

“G’mornin!” Kirstin called out, smiling as she put a tray onto the table.

“Good morning.” Sibyl stretched and yawned and ventured out, stomach clenching in hunger the moment she smelled the food.

There was a bowl full of something like porridge, a few slices of bread, some soft cheese, and a tin cup of milk. She sat at the table, spooning in delicious mouthfuls or porridge—there was dried fruit, seeds and nuts in it—as Kirstin stoked the fire. It had died down to embers overnight.

“Ye can wear these while ye’re here.” Kirstin held up the plaid and leather belt Sybil had taken off the night before, the same one she’d worn to tend Laina. “We’re doing our best to wash and mend your dress.”

“Thank you.” Sibyl made a face just thinking about that green velvet dress. “How is Laina this morning?”

“Better, thanks to you.” Kirstin smiled her gratitude.

Sibyl let the girl dress her. She would have insisted on doing it herself, but she wasn’t familiar with how it all worked. The plaid had loops the belt went through, and then the belt cinched at her waist, over the shirt she’d worn to bed. It was all very convenient, she thought, as Kirstin arranged the plaid fabric over her shoulder, tucking it back into the belt.

“I feel naked,” Sibyl murmured, glancing down at her bare legs and feet. She touched her long, uncovered hair. She wasn’t used to going around without some sort of head covering. It was common in Scotland, she’d noticed, but English ladies didn’t go out without a hat. Kirstin had taken her corset along with her dress, and Sybil discovered could take a full breath for the first time in months. She hadn’t felt this free in a long time.

“Ye look lovely.” Kirstin combed Sibyl’s hair as she finished eating her porridge and drank her milk. It was goat’s milk, rich and delicious. “Are ye sure ye don’na have Scots blood in ye? Yer hair’s as red as a rooster’s crown!”

“Mayhaps, somewhere back in my family tree.” Sibyl smiled. “Although my mother would faint if she heard me say it.”

She didn’t like thinking about her mother. Or her home. She didn’t have a home anymore, not really. Whatever connection she might have maintained between herself and the place she’d grown up had disappeared the moment she’d decided to run away. Whatever her life had been before, it would never be again.

“My dress will be ready soon?” Sibyl looked at her hopefully. Even if she didn’t wear it, she realized she could sell it for the cloth alone and pay for food for her trip, if she could find a buyer. She tried to remember the places they had passed on their trip over the border, if there had been anywhere promising she might sell a velvet gown.

“I had ’em take it out into the sun to dry.” Kirstin put more wood on the fire. The room had grown cool overnight and she wondered if they had to keep a fire going all day, even in the summer. The mountain retained the cold and Sibyl wasn’t used to being bare-legged. She was actually shivering.

“Sun?” Sibyl cocked her head as she tied her soft-soled shoes, wishing she had a pair of riding boots instead. “Outside?”

“A’course outside.” Kirstin laughed, taking Sibyl’s tray and heading toward the door. “Raife was askin’ after ye. Would ye like me to take ye to’im?”

Sibyl nodded, standing and following Kirstin out of the room. It was time to go, she decided, with or without an escort. She didn’t know if Raife had been serious about taking her wherever she wanted to go, but she wouldn’t turn down his offer, if he made it again.

They made their way through the tunnels and Sibyl kept as close to Kirstin as she could. They passed people on the way, men and women all dressed in plaid, and a few wolves too, which made her shrink instinctively toward the cool tunnel walls.

“They will’na hurt ye,” Kirstin assured her as they traveled deeper into the mountain. “Raife has guaranteed your safety.”

“I’m not so sure Darrow is going to listen to him,” Sibyl muttered, remembering how Raife’s brother had glared at her and argued with him, even if she had helped his wife the night before. Darrow didn’t like her presence, didn’t want her there.

“Raife leads our pack,” Kirstin informed her. “Even if Darrow doesn’t like it, he will follow. He must.”

It didn’t surprise Sybil in the least that Raife was their leader.

“So you…” Sibyl cleared her throat, thinking of how to phrase the question as they went through the busy dining hall. There were people still sitting at long tables, talking in Gaelic, laughing together, eating breakfast. “Raife mentioned that you don’t… eat… people?”

“Not for a very long time. It is against the pact,” Kirstin said as they passed through the kitchen. “We just want to live peacefully.”

“And all the swords?” Sibyl eyed a rack of them, literally hundreds of blades, as they passed into a tunnel. If these men were peaceful, their weaponry told a different story.

“Our men are trained as warriors, ’tis true.” Kirstin shrugged as they neared the end of the tunnel. There was sunlight there, at the end of the darkness. “But they do not fight unless they have to.”

The sun was welcome and Sibyl turned her face up to it, breathing in the cool mountain air. There were women washing clothes to the right, standing barefoot in a stream. The valley they entered was covered in green, spotted with the purple of heather, and in the middle of it all was a sight that made Sibyl gasp aloud.

“Have ye not seen the warriors?” Kirstin glanced back in surprise at Sibyl as she shrank toward the opening in the side of the mountain, but she couldn’t have been any more surprised than Sibyl was herself.

I’m not going to faint again, Sibyl told herself, leaning against the solid rock, the world tilting sideways as she watched the half-men, half-wolves wielding their swords against each other in the early morning sunlight, the sound of steel against steel ringing over the mountain. As strange a sight as it was, Sibyl spotted Raife instantly, his long, dark hair trailing behind him in waves as he half growled, half roared and leapt completely over his opponent.

She didn’t know how she recognized him, because his face wasn’t his own—his snout was long, his canine teeth sharp as he snarled and swung his sword behind him to catch and stop the other half-wolf’s blow. But she did. She knew him instantly.

Her heart stopped, her knees wobbled, hands trembling as she brought them to her quivering mouth. The big half-wolf—he seemed twice his human size to Sibyl from here—sniffed the air, eyes flashing and ears twitching as those blue eyes turned their way.

He was a wolf from the neck up, but his body was the same—broad, tanned chest, ridged abdomen, the muscles in his back taut as he kept his opponent’s sword at bay. Raife’s heavily muscled thighs bulged as he twisted and avoided the swing of the other wolf-man’s weapon. The sound of steel striking rock rang through the valley and Sibyl gasped as Raife gave a low, keening howl, shaking his head quickly from side to side.

One moment he was a wolf—half a wolf, at any rate—and the next he was changed back to a man, tossing his heavy sword aside with a scowl as he approached. The other wolf-man did the same, and she saw that Raife had been fighting with his brother, Darrow.

“I told ye to come git me when she woke,” Raife snapped at Kirstin.

“Did ye?” She blinked at him and Sibyl sensed something pass between them. Clearly Kirstin had defied his wishes. “She wanted to come outside. Didn’t ye, Lady Sibyl?”

“I did ask,” Sibyl admitted, blinking at him in surprise. “I thought, mayhaps, I should go soon…?”

“I must speak wit ye.” Raife gave a slow nod, glancing at Kirstin, eyes narrowing briefly.

He held out his hand to Sibyl and she hesitated only a moment before taking it. She tried to ignore the heat in her cheeks as she did so, letting him help her over the rocks, trying to ignore the eyes on them as Raife led her away from the mountain. The women doing wash watched them, whispering behind their hands. Kirstin had gone over to join them and Sibyl knew the girl must be telling them all about their strange human interloper and her odd ways.

She’d expected to be a stranger in a strange land when her uncle had informed her she would be a Scotsman’s English bride, but she had never expected anything like this.

They walked down the sloping hill and up another. There were no more rocks to clamber over, but Raife didn’t let go of his steadying hand as they made their way over the crest. When Sibyl looked back, she noticed they were out of the line of sight of the rest of the pack, although she could hear the women singing and the ring of steel as swords began clashing again.

“Did we scare ye?” Raife asked, glancing down at her.

“No.” She was lying, but just a little. She had started to get used to this world, as strange as it was. “I don’t scare easily.”

“’Tis true.” He smiled, stopping as they neared a tree, leaning against the trunk to look down at her. He still held her hand in his, thumb rubbing over the top of her knuckles. “Ye are a brave little lass.”

“Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?” She swallowed, looking up, way up, into his observant blue eyes.

“I have some bad news for ye. “ He glanced back the way they’d come, brow knitted, jaw working. “I sent scouts out early, before dawn. I’m afraid…”

“He’s looking for me.” She knew it was true. Of course it was. Alistair wasn’t going to give up that easy.

“I can’na let ye go.” Raife’s hand swallowed hers. “Until I’m sure it’s safe.”

“Raife…” She blinked up at him, feeling strange in her Scots’ plaid, especially the way he looked at her in it. This was not her home, these were not her people. “I cannot stay here. I must be away.”

“Where will ye go?” He reached out to brush a stray strand of hair away from her cheek, looking concerned. “Is there someone waiting for ye, lass?”

Their eyes met and she knew he was thinking about Alistair. So was she. Her betrothed would certainly be looking for her, although he wouldn’t want to marry her, not anymore. Or mayhaps he would, still—only to make her life a living hell. That would be more Alistair’s predilection and if the thought of being married to him had repelled her before, it terrified her now. She could never allow herself to be brought before him again, in any capacity.

“I would keep ye safe.” Raife’s eyes were so expressive and his heart was in them. “If… if there is no one who already has claim on ye.”

She hesitated, considering his words. She knew what he was asking and was afraid to answer him, to tell him the truth. He knew she’d been promised to Alistair—but he also knew she didn’t want that marriage. She had run away from it, straight into this man’s world, but in her rush to escape, she hadn’t thought past her immediate future. She couldn’t go home to England, not to her mother and her uncle. She knew she would never see them again, after what she had done.

She wasn’t just an interloper, an Englishwoman in Scotland, she was now a human in a world full of strange creatures, forever a stranger in a strange land, unwelcome. She had no home, not anymore, and never would again, she realized with a slow, dawning horror. She would spend the rest of her life hiding—what did it matter, then, where she did so?

“No,” Sibyl said softly, swallowing hard. “There is no one.”

“Then stay.” He took her other hand in his, so he was holding them both.

She glanced down at them, and then up into those impossibly blue eyes. She was thinking about Laina and her baby and the change that came over the she-wolf, unbidden, putting her into sudden, grave danger in a world that didn’t understand her kind. She thought of God’s curses and didn’t doubt for a moment that he was a man like Alistair, someone who craved power but never did anything to earn it. She’d been raised a good Christian, a good girl, and where had that gotten her?

Sold into matrimonial slavery to a stranger, that’s where.

Sibyl felt the rough callouses on Raife’s hands, looked up at the kindness in his eyes, and thought she could stay here. She could, at least for a while. Mayhaps she could be of some use in this place. She might even stumble across the plant that could change all of their lives, relieve them of the curse of living this way, hidden in the side of a mountain.

Maybe they could help each other, Sibyl thought, meeting Raife’s kind, searching eyes.

And maybe, she realized, they weren’t that different after all.

“Ye are welcome here, ye ken?” Raife rubbed his thumbs over Sybil’s knuckles, looking down at her hands in his.

“Thank you.” She couldn’t express her gratitude to him, not really.

How strange it was, to be grateful to be welcomed in a place no human even knew existed.

How strange it was, to be so suddenly alone, so estranged from the world, she no longer belonged anywhere at all.

How strange it was to hold a man’s hand who had, just a few moments earlier, been wielding a sword as some fantastical creature, the stuff of legend come to life.

How strange it was, to look up at this half-man, half-wolf, and feel things she never had before, things that scared her more deeply than wolves or even the threat of capture or death.

How strange it all was.

How strange indeed.

* * * *

The wulvers were the best family she’d ever had. Sybil often thought this as she drifted off to sleep, going over the events of the day, which were always interesting. It had taken some getting used to seeing a wolf’s head on a man’s body, hearing a man speak through a wolf’s mouth, but she could enter the valley without a second thought now as the wolfen warriors trained. It took her a little longer to get used to seeing the flash of a wolf’s eyes in the darkness of a mountain tunnel, but she’d spent long enough with them to know none of them meant her harm.

In fact, most of the wulvers had gone out of their way to make her feel as at home as possible. They didn’t tease her about her English accent, like the Scotsmen at Alistair’s castle had. They didn’t make fun of her penchant for baths like the Scottish, or her insistence on things like her own silverware and tin drinking cup. Of course, Raife had a lot to do with that, she knew. He had gone out of his way to make her feel as at-home as possible.

She didn’t know when it had happened, but at some point, the wulvers’ mountain and valley had started to feel like home. And everywhere she went, every which way she looked, Raife was there, watching her. Watching over her. He seemed to think of himself as her personal protector, and that’s why, when Sybil started going out into the forest with Darrow, Raife had completely lost it.

Darrow had been the one who asked her to go, and while Sybil knew what Raife’s response would be, she had gone anyway. She hadn’t asked him—and she’d known, in her heart, that the pack leader wouldn’t have allowed it if she had. So she had simply agreed, putting her arms around Darrow’s neck and letting him carry her into the woods where she had left her past behind.

When they had returned, Raife had taken the place of the sentry, pacing back and forth at the entrance of the mountain, waiting for them both. Darrow had faced his brother defiantly. It had been Sybil who tried to slink by like a dog with its tail between its legs. Raife had caught her around the waist, pulling her to him and growling, “Wait for me in your room,” before sending her on her way.

She heard them snarling at each other as she went back to her room. Raife came to her a short time later, his back and side scratched and bleeding, his face smeared dark red, and she was terrified to ask what had happened. She instantly wanted to apologize, to beg his forgiveness, but she did neither.

Instead, she went to the fire to heat water to treat his wounds. He let her, watching as she washed the blood away with a warm cloth, seeing the wonder in her eyes as the gouges in his flesh healed all by themselves in no time at all. More wulver magic, she learned. Their strength made them great warriors, but their healing capacity made them near unbeatable.

“My brother says you were out helping him find huluppu?” Those were the first words he’d said to her after she returned with Darrow.

“Yes,” Sybil said honestly, still stunned at the way his skin pulled itself together right in front of her eyes without even leaving a scar. “For Laina.”

Raife gave a slow, curt nod, those disarming blue eyes studying her face.

She stopped and looked up at him, puzzled.

“What did you think I was doing out there with him?” she finally asked and hid a smile when he scowled and wouldn’t answer her.

She didn’t ask Raife’s permission when Darrow asked her to go again, and Raife never gave it. But he was always there, waiting, when they returned with a good supply of useful herbs and sometimes with wild berries or some other treat. Every time they came back, she thought Raife would rail at them, tell her she couldn’t go off gallivanting in the woods with his brother, but he didn’t.

He would glare at Darrow as the wolf changed back into his human form. The brothers wouldn’t say a word to each other as Darrow started into the tunnel to go see his bride, and Raife pulled Sibyl close, his arms tight around her, hands checking to see if she was whole and unbroken, as if he believed just stepping out his sight would instantly cause her harm.

“I’m fine, Raife!” She would laugh and take his hand as they walked through the tunnels toward the smell of dinner cooking. And then she would tell him all about their trip, and show him what she found, and he would listen as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard tell about.

Then, one day, she found it.

He had known instantly, just by the look on her face, that their trip had finally been a success. Raife had swept her into his arms, his embrace much tighter than usual, his face buried against her neck, his whispered words, “Thank God. You don’t have to go back out again,” sending a shiver through her.

But now…

The willow Sybil had found and transplanted was dying.

She looked at the browning leaves, pinching off the dead ones with her fingers. She’d found the plant Laina could not, much to Darrow’s relief, and she had transplanted it here near the stream. There was plenty of light, plenty of water, and yet the plant did not thrive. There was no reason for it and she could not figure it out.

“It is the curse,” Laina told her simply when Sibyl went to visit her and the baby, bringing her broth to sip.

Sibyl once would have said she didn’t believe in curses, but she had seen things now most human beings would never witness. The sight of a half-man, half-wolf carrying a sword and riding a horse was something you would never forget as long as you lived. It made you doubt and believe everything at once, including all the fairy stories and legends she had heard tell over the years.

“Mayhaps,” Sibyl would say, whenever Laina blamed the willow’s slow death on the curse. But if it was the curse, and the willow was actually the cure for the change, as Laina and Darrow believed, then why would it not live here, in the place the wulvers called home?

Laina had an explanation for that too.

“It only grows in the borderland,” Laina told her, when Sybil explained where she had found the plant. It had been too close to Alistair’s lands for comfort, and Raife had protested, but Darrow had been the one who agreed to take her out that far, to protect her if need be. “It will not live on one side or th’other.”

This seemed ridiculous to Sybil, and she was determined to prove Laina wrong, but so far, the frustrating plant had done just the opposite. She wanted one of the wulver women to try eating the leaves before the plant died, but Laina was insistent that she be the one to try it first.

“I will pay the consequences, whatever they may be,” Laina told her. “I don’t want anyone else to suffer any ill effects. I will try it first.”

Laina had been doing so herself all along, harvesting and drying various species of willow, from roots to leaves to bark, and taking them to test their effects. That was how she ended up nearly bleeding to death during the birth of her son. She had lived through the ordeal, but just barely. It had taken her weeks to recover from something Kirstin said wulver women usually bounced back from right away.

And in the month Sibyl had spent with them, she’d seen this for herself. Wulver women changed when it was time to give birth. They had one pup, two at the most, and their births were short and painless. They changed back immediately, as did the male pups. The girls took a little longer to change into human form, but babies, regardless of gender, then stayed human until they came of age. Girls changed when they began to bleed, and they would continue to do so for the rest of their lives, until their moon time was done. Boys could not only control when they changed, they could also transform into halflings, half-man, half-wolf. Female wulvers were either human or wolf. There was no in between.

It was Laina’s desire to stop the change, so that female wulvers weren’t slaves to their own bodies. Wulver traditions were oral, passed down from generation to generation, but there was one text they considered their “bible” of sorts, and Sybil had spent time going over it herself since she’d come to live with them. It was told in pictures with only some words—human wulvers were incredibly deft with their hands and could draw anything, their mountain walls were covered with beautiful drawings—but Sibyl’s father had taught her to read.

While most wulvers did not read, Sibyl understood the words in the book. Laina had been excited to learn this, and wanted Sibyl to pour over the text, to find the things Laina could not. Sybil understood the woman’s urgency, at least to some degree. She, herself, felt trapped by her own gender. All of the things her father had taught her—to ride, to hunt, to shoot, to track—were useless to her sex. She understood Laina’s anger at feeling trapped in her body, unable to change what nature had made her.

But she didn’t fully understand until, one early morning while she helped wash clothes in the stream with Kirstin, she was told the story of Laina’s mother and how she had died. It was so eerily similar to how Laina had been caught, Sybil found herself getting goose flesh at the telling of the tale.

The women took turns telling it, each of them bringing something new to the story as they went on. They told of a time when wulvers and wolves were trapped, hunted and killed. It had been just twenty years ago when “The MacFalon” and his bloodlust for wolves drove the wulvers underground. He would capture them in cages, torture and kill them. There was even a mandate from the Scottish king that wolves must be hunted at certain times of the year.

Sybil wondered if this man they called “the MacFalon” was Alistair’s grandfather, a man whose reputation had been far worse than his son’s. Alistair’s father, according to Donal and everyone who spoke of him, hadn’t been the type of man who would shoot an animal for sport. She couldn’t imagine he had done what these women described “the MacFalon” doing.

The tale took another turn when the women told of two young female wulvers becoming trapped in a MacFalon cage. One was in estrus, they said—in heat. The other was heavy with pup and the trauma of the cage had forced her into labor. Neither female could change back to free themselves, and they had been separated from their men folk.

In the morning, the MacFalon himself had come to see what he had trapped in his cage. He found both of the wolves, the one in heat snarling at him, the other just birthing her pup. The young wolf pup, eyes hardly open, slipped out of the bars of its cage and ran.

“I thought wolf pups change when they’re born?” Sybil had asked, pounding cloth against the rocks.

“Boys do, right away,” Kirstin explained. “Girls, they take longer. It can be up to a day before they turn human.”

So it had been a girl who had escaped that day. A young wolf girl who would later be called Laina, a name her own mother, the wolf the MacFalon had shot through with an arrow while still in the cage, had chosen before she was born. He would have shot the other wolf as well, if she hadn’t changed. Her heat was nearly over, so mayhaps it was time, the women said. Or mayhaps it was the shock of seeing her friend murdered.

But the MacFalon, suddenly faced with a dead wolf and a very alive, nude woman, decided to drag his wolf kill behind his horse and throw the other woman across his saddle—after he restrained her, of course.

“It would’ve been war then,” Beitris, the old wulver midwife, had told her with a nod. “Once the wolfen warriors heard wha’happened, they took to their horses and went ridin’ after the MacFalons armed with claymores.”

“What happened?” Sibyl had asked, glancing down into the valley where the wulver men practiced the art of warfare every day, keeping their bodies in condition, just in case.

“King Henry.”

Sybil had stared at them in disbelief, but they weren’t jesting. Not even a little.

“He wasn’t the king then,” the wulver women explained. “Not yet he wasn’t.”

“He came to Scotland seeking warriors to win the crown.”

She knew King Henry VII had been in Brittany, recruiting the French troops, when this incident was supposed to have happened. Had he really come to Scotland in hopes of finding more?

“And got ’em, he did!” One of the other older wulver women cackled, her rheumy blue eyes flashing.

“He came looking for the wulver warriors,” Kirstin explained. “King Henry wanted ’em to fight for him. This was all before I was born, a’course.”

“King Henry fell in love with Avril,” the wulver women told her. Sybil listened to this tall tale with big eyes. She knew the name Avril belonged to Raife’s mother. “She was with child when he rode back to England.”

“And the warriors promised to fight for the future king of England, if the MacFalon would agree to keep the peace. So they brokered a deal.”

“The wolf pact.”

That’s what the wulver women had called it.

“King Henry VII?” Sybil had wondered aloud, utterly enthralled with the tale, even while she doubted its veracity.

“He could’na take her back with him, ya ken?” the old woman said, shaking her head. “So she came back to us.”

“Birthed her child here with us,” the old midwife, Beitris, said. “And Garaith raised him like his own.”

“Garaith?” Sybil knew this name too. “Raife’s… father?”

“Darrow’s father,” Bietris countered. “Raife is descended from King Henry VII himself.”

Sibyl had smiled then, thinking it had to be more stuff of legend.

“So King Henry negotiated a peace pact between the wulvers and the Scots,” Sibyl had mused. This tale was so fantastical, it was hard to believe. “And the MacFalon honored that pact?”

That seemed unlikely, given the man’s penchant for violence and hatred of the wulvers.

“The MacFalon was killed in battle,” the old midwife told her.

“His son had become laird by then,” one of the wulver women explained.

“And there’s been peace for nigh on twenty years.”

“Until now,” Sybil whispered to herself, thinking of Alistair’s wolf hunt.

If there had been such a pact, Alistair had to be aware—so why was he breaking it?

She didn’t understand, but she knew it wasn’t good for the wulvers.

It wasn’t until she heard this story that Sybil finally understood Laina’s passion for breaking the wulvers’ curse. Sybil had never been close with her own mother, but she couldn’t imagine losing her in such a traumatic way. The wolf-child—Laina—had been found by the wulvers in the woods and taken back to the den, raised as an orphan and adopted by a childless female.

Sybil had done her best to help the young wulver woman and her cause, and she redoubled her efforts after hearing the wolf pact story, if for no other reason than she didn’t want the girl to take any more chances with her life and her health. Sybil had poured over the wulver text, had read and re-read the legends, had listened to story after story told around the fire, at the dinner table, at the stream while they washed or in the kitchen where they prepared meals.

Sybil had seen pictures of the huluppu tree, and had recognized it as a willow, just as Laina had. But it was Sybil who had found it growing in the forest at the side of the very stream she had crossed to escape Alistair’s men. Now, as Sibyl stared at her little transplant, she knew it would likely be dead by the time Laina was ready to venture out of the den.

And what then?

Would Laina go out on her own to find it growing on MacFalon land?

Sibyl knew she couldn’t let that happen.

Chapter Seven

“’Tis time to sup.”

Sybil shaded her eyes and looked up at Raife. The wulver men fought bare-chested and bare-legged, like any Scot, but they were far bigger and more muscular than most men, even when they weren’t transformed into half-wolf form. Raife’s body glistened with sweat, his dark hair damp with effort as he squatted beside her near the stream. They spent the morning training but their afternoons in various other pursuits. Today they had sheared sheep and he had bits of fluff stuck in his dark hair.

“’Tis dying,” Raife observed, pinching another brown leaf off the plant—Sybil could have sworn it turned brown just in the time she’d been watching. “Laina will’na be pleased.”

“I know.” Sybil sighed, reaching out to pluck a bit of white from Raife’s hair. “We will have to keep her busy here until I can go out and find another.”

“No more woods for ye.” He scowled at the little smile that came over her face.

“Darrow will protect me,” she said. Darrow would have done anything for Laina. If that meant going out into the woods with Sibyl, well, he would even venture to do that.

“I can’na let you go again.” Raife shook his head, frowning at the dying plant as if it was all the fault of the willow. “It is far too dangerous, lass.”

“No more dangerous than a human living in a wolf’s den.” She teased, laughing, standing and holding her hand out to him.

“Ye are safe here, Sibyl.” That scowl on his face deepened as he stood, ignoring the hand she had held out to help him. “Have we not proved it to ye?”

“Of course. You know I jest.” She blinked at him in surprise. “You have proven to be a perfect gentleman. Far less of an animal than my…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, both of them knowing just who she meant.

“Aye.” Raife grimaced, turning his back on her and heading toward the mountain. “The perfect gentleman.”

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

“Dinner!” he yelled back, not turning. “I better eat something before I decide to devour ye instead!”

“Raife!”

But there was no way to catch up to those big, long legs of his. She saw the men corralling the horses. The horses ran free in the valley during the day, but they kept them penned at night, just like the sheep and the goats. The wulvers would not harm them—unless it was during one of the female changes. The females were unpredictable, and while they wouldn’t harm a human, they might take down an animal. It was just safer, Raife had told her, to pen them up at night.

Otherwise, they could have roamed the valley to their heart’s content. There was no way out of it, unless you took a horse up a winding, treacherous mountain path and down the other side. Or went through the mountain den itself. She knew they had taken horses out through the den before—when the wolfen warriors were ready for warfare—but not very often.

“Sibyl!” Laina called her name as Sibyl’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. Coming into the den was always such a surprise to her system, even though the wulvers adjusted easily. Of course, they could see almost as well in the dark as they could in the light. “How is our little plant?”

Sibyl smiled, but she didn’t want to say. Instead she distracted them both by fussing over the baby. He was a handsome fellow with big blue eyes and a thick, thatch of dark hair.

“You are looking so much better, Laina.” Sibyl smiled, chucking the baby under his chin. “Your color is coming back.”

“That’s not all that’s coming back.” Laina frowned at the way the baby turned his head, looking for something to chew on and found his fist. “He’s started solid food. The elders say my moon cycles will start up again soon.”

“The plant… it’s…” Sybil swallowed as they entered the center of the mountain. All the tunnels led to and through here. It was the heart of all things, this place where they cooked and ate together.

“It’s dying isn’t it?” Laina sighed, switching the baby to her other shoulder. “It can’t live anywhere but the borderlands. I knew it. I’m going to have to go look for it myself.”

“Laina, no.” Sybil frowned, catching Raife’s eye across the room. He was teasing Kirstin about something because she flushed pink and laughed, hitting him on the arm.

Everyone loved Raife, especially all the wulver women. Sybil had noticed it from the very beginning, but once she found that he had not chosen a mate, she also discovered that most of the wulver girls dreamed of being that one. Not that she could blame any of them, of course. He was quite a catch, as far as wulver men went. There was no one bigger or stronger in the pack, which was likely why he had assumed the role of leader, but she didn’t think that was all of the reason. There was something different about Raife. Something calmer, more reserved than the rest of the wulver men. They liked to wrestle and tussle like little boys. Raife was far more serious than that.

Which made times like this, when he smiled and teased one of the girls, even more unusual. Sibyl found herself bristling at it and she tried to ignore it, turning her attention back to Laina and her tiny baby.

“You need to stay here for this little man,” Sibyl reminded Laina as she slipped onto one of the benches in front of the long table. Sybil saw Darrow enter the kitchen, carrying a thick, heavy sword. He hung it in a notch on the side of the mountain wall. There were hundreds of others there. The men forged new swords all the time. She was fascinated with the process and Raife had laughed at her when she once tried to lift one off the ground—she’d wielded a small sword of her own back at her father’s castle—finding it far too heavy. She couldn’t believe how the wulver men swung them around, over their heads, the strength it must take.

“How can I care for him when I’m a wolf?” Laina’s lower lip trembled.

“But… isn’t that what your wulver sisters are for?” Sibyl asked.

She knew the other wulver women cared for the babies when the moon time of a mother returned. Wulvers wouldn’t hurt their young, but a human baby required things a wulver pup did not. Sibyl thought it was ironic, because a human woman could care for a wulver pup or a human child, but a wulver, with no hands or thumbs or even voice, had a much harder time caring for a human child.

“But he’s my baby,” Laina protested.

“I know.” Sibyl smiled at the infant who sucked greedily at his fist. “He looks just like you.”

“You don’t know, though.” Laina kissed the top of the baby’s head, her eyes sad as she looked at Sibyl. “Even if you mated with Rai—a… wulver… you would never have to worry about changing.”

Raife.

That’s what Laina had almost said.

Even if you mated with Raife.

Sibyl glanced over at him. He was talking to his brother, their heads bent, expressions serious. Did everyone in the pack think she was in love with him? She wondered. Did everyone think what Laina had almost said aloud?

She had thought about what it would mean, to be a wulver’s mate.

To be Raife’s mate.

She would have denied it aloud—and had, on several occasions, when the women had teased her about it. They soon learned not to mention it, because if they did, Sybil would bristle. And Raife—no one ever said anything about Sybil in front of Raife. The last man who had said something suggestive about Sybil had spent the afternoon in the pig pen, shoveling it out.

But as much as she denied it, she thought about it. She felt the way his eyes followed her, wherever she went. He always knew where she was, at all times. He had spent a month sleeping in the cold hallway somewhere outside her door, wrapped in his plaid. She couldn’t count the times she’d stood on the other side of that door, her ear pressed tight, imagining she could hear him breathing, feel the pound of his wulver heart. Of course, it was really only the sound of her own quickened breath, the thud of her aching human heart.

Because, if nothing else, her heart beat for him.

She knew it wasn’t unheard of, a wulver choosing a human mate. It had happened before. Raife’s own father had been a human man, after all. But Raife was the leader of his pack. He had a responsibility, not just to himself, but to all of them. He hadn’t yet taken a mate, but they expected him to, and soon. They expected him to choose a wulver woman, someone who matched him in spirit and strength, a woman who wouldn’t put herself at risk every time she gave birth to a new heir.

And Sibyl knew any issue from a human and wulver would be a changeling. No human-wulver pairing ever resulted in a child who was fully human.

She had been sold to a man who was as different from her as night from day, or so she once thought. The Scots ways were odd to her, so often opposite her own, but the more time she’d spent in their presence, she’d grown used to the soft brogue, their jokes and forward behavior. Donal and his men had endeared themselves to her, over time. Well, most of them had.

It was only Alistair, her intended, who had still rankled her.

Now that she’d lived with these wulvers for a month, she knew what real “difference” was. They couldn’t have been further apart, she and these creatures. They were wild, untamed, a close-knit pack of warriors, the men strong and protective, the women nearly as strong and just as territorial. Sybil had watched them argue, tussle, fight and make up, had listened to the women tell stories and watched them take care of their young.

And yet, in their hearts, she had found they were the same as she was. Their needs and wants were no different. They hungered. They fed. They laughed. They wondered. They loved. And in that last, in her estimation, they were perhaps superior to her own breed. They loved with a passion and devotion she had never seen before. The connection between wulver mates went far beyond contracts. In her world, men of power and pieces of paper served to join two factions.

She had been little more than a pawn on her uncle’s chessboard. King Henry had sought to unite the English and Scots, to ease the tension between them by uniting families along the border, so everyone was invested in the future generations that issued from each union. She was but one bride who had been sold for that purpose, she knew. And ultimately, if her uncle was to be believed, James IV of Scotland would marry a Tudor and the union of Scots and English would wind its way all the way to the top of the hierarchy.

“Sibyl?” Laina’s voice brought Sibyl out of her reverie. Sibyl tore her eyes from Raife, focusing on the woman and her baby.

“I’m sorry?” Sibyl apologized. She hadn’t heard a word, didn’t even know if Laina had been speaking at all.

“He will claim ye.” Laina was the only one who dared speak of it aloud, although even she was cautious and spoke in hushed tones, so no one overheard them. “If ye let him.”

“Who am I to let him?” Sibyl laughed, trying her best to sound as if it mattered not at all. “I am just a woman. I get no say in such matters.”

“From what I hear, ye had a great deal to say about such matters with an arrow.” Laina leveled a knowing look in her direction. “Ye are more wulver than English at heart, I think.”

Sybil had escaped her captor, had defied her uncle, had shamed her mother. That was not a ladylike, English thing to do. There was nothing to return to for her anymore, and if there was, she wasn’t sure she would want to go back. Her world had died the moment she fled. Now she belonged nowhere. She lived in this fantastical place, with these strange creatures, but she didn’t belong with them either. That’s what it came down to, in the end. She wasn’t just a stranger in a strange land, she was forever an outsider, a foreigner who could never fit in.

An Englishwoman could act like a Scot, could someday become Scottish in language and mannerisms, but a human woman could never become a wulver. That was a transformation no person could ever perform, no matter how much they wished it were true. Just as Laina, who longed to change her wulver nature, could never prevent her own change.

We are what we are. That’s what Raife often said, and it was true. More true than Sibyl wanted to admit, even to herself.

“Hello, Darrow.” Sibyl glanced up as Laina’s husband joined them, kissing the top of his son’s dark head, looking upon him with great affection. Sibyl didn’t stay long between them. She was too afraid they might start asking her about the huluppu tree again and she didn’t want to have to tell them the truth.

She told herself she’d go the next day and pull off a shoot and try to get it to root, and replant it. Mayhaps she could get it to grow somewhere else further downstream. Maybe it needed partial shade instead of full sun. She was still puzzling over this when she took her seat across from Laina and Darrow at the long table. Raife had insisted she sit by him from the very beginning. At first, she thought it was so he could translate for her from Gaelic, but then he had insisted everyone start speaking English. Of course, they still didn’t pay much attention to the rule, especially at dinner, when everyone talked at once, hundreds of people sitting at four long tables.

Sibyl didn’t care much, not really. She was too hungry most of the time to pay attention to the jokes and laughter, the talk of training and babies. Besides, it allowed her to keep Raife’s attention. They sat and talked together every night at dinner like they were in their own little world. She liked it that way and she thought he did too. She’d learned a lot about the wolf pack—and its leader—this way. And she had revealed a great deal about herself and her life before this, far more than she would have otherwise, if she’d been focused on making small talk with the other wulvers, whether it was in English or her poor attempt at Gaelic.

But tonight, Raife was quiet. He ate his bacon and sopped up gravy with biscuits and just grunted yes and no answers to her questions. In spite of her attempts to get him to talk, he stayed quiet, thoughtful. It was only when Darrow made a joke across the table in Gaelic that made everyone laugh that Raife took notice and snapped at his brother.

“Beurla!” Raife insisted. “English!”

He taught Sibyl that way, saying the word in Gaelic, and then repeating it in English.

“You mustn’t force them for my sake.” Sibyl nudged Raife with her right elbow, trying not to make it too obvious she was doing so, as he told his brother to speak English at the dinner table.

The pack gathered for dinner in one large, central room, a fire always burning cozily in the kitchen’s hearth. This was the heart of the mountain and the foundation of the pack. This was where they met, where they ate, and at night, where many of them slept. It was during her first week in the mountain, unable to sleep, when she’d wandered into the kitchen, her stomach looking for biscuits, that she’d found them all huddled together like the pups in the kitchen back home.

The bed she slept on, she discovered, was Raife’s, but while she’d protested to Kirstin about taking his room, she assured Sibyl that he rarely occupied it. He wrapped himself in his plaid, like the rest of his pack, and slept on the kitchen floor with a hundred other canines. Aside from Raife’s—the pack leader’s—rooms with doors inside the mountain were usually reserved for mating couples and birthing females. Darrow and Laina were in a much smaller room next to Raife’s. It was the room Sibyl had first woken up in, where Laina had given birth.

Raife had not taken a mate to fill his room, much to his pack’s frustration. So far, he had, according to Kirstin, been far more interested in training, not only himself but his pack mates, for a war he never wanted to fight. It was strange to Sibyl, given it was Darrow who seemed far more interested in starting a war, even if he wasn’t quite as diligent about training and preparing for such.

“I told them to speak English.” Raife frowned down at her, his expressive blue eyes showing concern over her confusion at Darrow’s Gaelic words. Raife had made it a new pack-wide rule that, in Sibyl’s presence, English should be spoken at all times. All of them could speak and understand English, although they spoke it with a thick, Scottish brogue, but most of them forgot and needed reminding when she was around.

“I am learning Gaelic,” she protested, sticking her tongue out at him when he raised those dark, arched brows at her. She picked up a biscuit and waved it at him. “Aran. See?”

“Seo?” Raife lifted his glass of wine, tipping toward her, asking what it was.

“Uhhhh.” Sibyl frowned. She was drinking goat’s milk—the goats were kept in the valley behind tall fences, or else they would get eaten instead of milked—and she knew the word for “milk” was “bainne.” Laina, still nursing her baby balach, Garaith, said the word “bainne” enough for Sibyl to remember it.

She noticed that many of the pack were watching her. Kirstin, who had been a patient, excellent Gaelic teacher so far, was particularly interested in Sibyl’s struggle

“F-f-f…” She knew it started with that sound. She remembered that much. “Fiodh! Now give me!”

Sibyl reached for his wine to take a drink, triumphant.

“No, lass.” Raife grinned, letting her take sip. “Fion is wine.”

“What did I ask for then?”

“Fiodh is wood.” Raife chuckled.

“Methinks ye give me brother plenty of that.”

Sibyl’s cheeks reddened at Darrow’s words and the laughter that ensued.

“Darrow.” Raife scowled a warning at his brother.

“The scouts say Alistair’s men have finally given up searching for her.” Darrow met his brother’s eyes across the table.

How long had it been? She wondered. She hadn’t been counting the days, but it was still summer. So Alistair had given up on her. It was a relief to her, and it must be to them too, she thought.

But then Darrow said, “It’s time for her to go back to her own kind.”

“Darrow, enough,” Raife snarled. His words brought silence to the whole pack. They all stopped talking, putting down their food, looking between the two men.

“You’re going to start a war,” Darrow said, standing and staring pointedly at Sibyl.

She shrank against Raife’s side, afraid of the anger in Darrow’s eyes. This was a man who had taken her on his back deep into the woods, who had been willing to risk his own life—and hers—in hopes of finding some sort of relief for a wulvers’ plight. They had talked together on those trips, had jested and laughed, had found they had more in common than not. Sibyl had come to believe that Darrow had not only accepted her among them, but that he even liked her. Now, looking at the anger on his face, she wondered if she’d been mistaken.

“You want a war!” Raife threw up his hands and stood too, a head taller than his brother.

“Not like this I don’t.” Darrow pointed a finger at Sibyl so that everyone around the table turned their heads to look at her. “She puts all of us at risk. You want me to speak English? I’ll say it in plain English then! Are ye doin’ what’s right for the pack? Or are ye doing what’s right for ye?”

Sibyl couldn’t breathe. Was it true, was her mere presence here putting them all in danger? If she believed that, even for a moment, she would leave without a second thought. She’d never felt so welcome anywhere before, but she also had never had a family like the wulvers. She didn’t want any of them harmed.

“And you, Darrow?” Raife glanced down at Sibyl and then back to his brother, eyes flashing. “You want me to say it plainly? You risked your woman’s life and the life of your child, and if it weren’t for this woman you want to toss out into the woods on her own, you would have lost them both!”

“Raife…” Sibyl’s wide eyes met Laina’s across the table, seeing the pained look on the woman’s face.

The two men stood, face to face, eyes locked, unmoving.

“Raife, please.” She tugged his hand as she stood beside him. “Don’t.”

He wasn’t listening. A low growl came from his throat, from both of them. She imagined them leaping across the table at one another, brother against brother, tearing each other to pieces, and couldn’t stand it.

Sibyl put her hand in Raife’s, squeezing hard.

“Tiugainn,” she whispered, pleading with him. “Tiugainn!”

He looked down, seeing her eyes brimming with tears, and the word registered in his eyes.

Come. Come on.

He turned away from his brother, away from his pack, and followed her into the tunnels.

Chapter Eight

There was nothing but silence as they made their way through the tunnel. Slowly, she heard the sound of the pack beginning to talk again, but it was far away now. She saw the light of a torch in a distance and knew there was a sentry on duty, as always, near the front of the cave.

Raife stopped outside her room, hand on the latch, looking down at her.

“I am sorry about that, lass,” he apologized softly. “My brother overstepped his bounds.”

“Does Alistair know where you live?” Sibyl asked. “Does he know about this mountain?”

“He may,” Raife admitted. “Our families… we have a history.”

Sibyl knew, more than she let on. Raife didn’t know what the wulver women had told her by the stream that day.

“So Darrow spoke the truth,” Sibyl whispered, her blood going cold at the thought of Raife and his pack in danger. “Alistair and his men could come here. They could… attack.”

“They will’na,” Raife assured her. “If they were going to come for ye, they would have done so. Besides, we have a pact.”

“The wolf pact.” She rolled her eyes when his brows went up in surprise. “I am not an idiot. I know the story. But I would hear the truth from you. From your own mouth.”

“Sibyl, don’t ask this.” He shook his head but Sibyl took both of his big hands in hers, tugging gently as she nudged the door open with her hip.

“Tiugainn,” she said softly in Gaelic. “Come.”

Raife followed her into the room—his room, a place he hadn’t slept in over a month—shutting the door behind him. Sibyl went to the fire and fed it. The flames were low and she used a poker to stoke it, glancing over her shoulder to see Raife still standing in front of the door like a sentry.

“Tiugainn.” She said it again, holding her hand out to him. “Sit with me by the fire.”

The rug in front of it was made from lamb’s wool, soft and white and inviting. She had fallen asleep in front of the fire a few times on that rug, wrapped up in her plaid, just like a real Scot.

“You’re starting to look like one of us.” Raife approached, looking down at her in her shirt and plaid as she pulled her knees up, resting her chin on them. She’d gotten used to this way of living quite quickly. No more corsets. She liked going around with bare legs, even running through the valley in bare feet. It was like reliving her childhood again. “You’re even getting some color.”

“Just my freckles.” She rolled her eyes, patting the floor beside her. “Sit.”

Raife did as she asked, sitting next to her on the rug in the firelight. She searched his face and that faraway look in his eyes as he stared into the flames, and wondered what he was thinking.

“Do you like it here?” he asked softly. He didn’t look at her when he asked.

“Yes,” she confessed. “It’s beautiful.”

Sometimes she was afraid to admit how much she’d grown to love it in the den. As strange and frightening as it had once been, it was now just as familiar, like home. Even her childhood home had never felt like this. Traveling through the mountain and its tunnels had become routine, and their valley, with its sheep and goats and pigs, its running stream and fields of heather, was one of her favorite places in the world.

“Bóidheach.” Raife turned his head to look at her, reaching out to touch her face. His fingers were rough against her flushed cheek. “Tha thu bóidheach.”

“No.” Sibyl felt her cheeks redden at his words, biting her lip and shaking her head. “Not me.”

“Yes, ye know those words.” He tilted her chin up when she tried to avoid his eyes. “Yer beautiful.”

Hearing him say it made her feel dizzy and flushed, but she told herself it was the warmth of the fire that made her feel that way, not the heat of his gaze.

“Darrow was right, wasn’t he?” Her voice trembled. “I’m putting all of you in danger just by being here?”

Raife shook his head but he didn’t deny it.

“I can’t continue to risk your lives,” she said, the thought of Alistair and his men attacking the wulvers in their mountain too horrific to contemplate. She had the image in her mind of four hundred wulvers being slaughtered, blood splattered everywhere like red paint against the mountain walls, turning the stream that ran through it red. She couldn’t be responsible for that. She wouldn’t.

“I am weak.” Raife sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his dark head. His hair spilled across his cheek, a black waterfall, obscuring her view of his face.

“You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known,” Sibyl countered, reaching out to touch his arm.

“I cannot let ye go, lass.” He lifted his head to meet her eyes, the look in them so filled with longing it took her breath away.

“I don’t want to go,” she confessed, swallowing, feeling tears brimming at the thought. She couldn't leave them. Couldn’t leave him. But if her very presence was putting them at risk? If Darrow was speaking the truth? “But I should go, Raife.”

“No.” His jaw tightened, eyes flashing. “Ye will not leave me.”

His words thrilled and terrified her at the same time.

“There is a woman in a village not too far from here. She was my ladies’ maid, but she…” Sibyl swallowed, remembering. How long ago it seemed now. “She found herself in the family way while we were traveling.”

“Without a family?” he guessed.

“Aye.”

“Listen to ye.” His smile was infectious. “Aye.”

How much of his Scottish brogue had she picked up? Sibyl wondered, smiling at her own choice of words.

“They wanted to leave her on the side of the road.” Her face hardened when she remembered the men denying relations with Rose, as if she had been the one solely responsible for her chastity. “I found a family to take her in. I know they would take me in, too.”

“No.” His brow knitted as he looked at her in the firelight. “I can’na allow it.”

“Allow it?” Her shoulders straightened and squared as she faced him. “No. You do not allow anything. You do not get a say, Raife. You are not my father. You are not my…”

He didn’t say anything as she struggled to finish the sentence and found she couldn’t.

“But I am.” Those incredible blue eyes, so bright in the firelight, sought hers. “I am yours. I have been yours since the moment I first saw ye, Sibyl.”

How could she deny it? Deny him? Hadn’t she been his, from that very moment when he broke out of the underbrush, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her out of her intended’s reach? Hadn’t she been his, ever since?

“Raife…” She whispered his name, so dear to her, a name she spoke in her mind a thousand times a day. “I can’t be yours.”

“But y’are, lass.” He traced the outline of her hand, still gripping his arm, with his index finger. “I am yours and y’are mine. Nothin’ can change that. No matter wha’happens.”

“Things are different here.” She felt a tear tremble on her lashes and she let it fall. “Here, you get to choose who you love. But I never had a choice. I was used as a political pawn, sold by my uncle to a man who… who…”

“I will not let him hurt ye.” Raife cupped her face in his hands, turning her chin up so she was forced to look at him through the blur of tears.

“I was born a girl and not a boy,” she whispered, remembering her father’s constant lament. “Do you know what that means?”

“Aye.” He smiled, those blue eyes dancing devilishly. “I do.”

“No, you don’t,” she choked, jerking her head away from him. “You don’t understand. You’re a man—you can do what you like. Me… I’m a woman. I only ever had one thing of value in the world to offer.”

“And what is that?” Raife asked softly.

“My virginity.” The words hung between them, much to Sybil’s horrible shame. Even after all of the training her father had bestowed upon her, she had, in the end, still been sold to the highest bidder as his ornament, his brood mare.

“It’s hardly yer only valuable feature,” Raife teased. She sniffed and tried not to smile at his words. “Although I would’na dismiss it out of hand.”

“But it is all that makes me valuable to them. To him.” She sneered, remembering Alistair’s snide comments, the way he’d treated her like property.

“But ye are here now,” Raife reminded her. “And here, ye get to choose.”

“Then I choose you.” She met his eyes, knowing if she did this, there would be no going back, not ever. And she didn’t want to go back. Not anymore. She wanted this man, more than she’d ever wanted anything. He made her want to give up everything for him, to him.

“Take it,” she urged, kneeling up in front of him so they were eye to eye in the firelight. “Take it from me. Take… me…”

She leaned in to him, her mouth quivering as she touched her lips to his. She felt his spine stiffen, heard his gasp at the daring press of her mouth.

“Please,” she pleaded, her lips burning where they touched his. “Raife, please…”

“I want nothing more.” He captured her face in his hands, searching her eyes. “But Sibyl… what ye are asking… wulvers mate for life. This is’na a simple matter of a man taking yer virginity. I would be claiming ye. Making ye my own.”

“If you don’t want me….” She swallowed, blinking in surprise at his words. A simple matter? Did he think she took it so lightly? “I… I understand…”

“Och!” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers, a pained expression on his face. “’Tis not that, lass. Tha mi gu dòigheal.”

“I… I don’t know…” She didn’t know those Gaelic words.

“Love.” He opened his eyes and met hers. “I love you, Sibyl.”

His mouth captured hers and all the feeling between them was caught in that kiss. Sibyl whimpered, putting her arms around his neck, spilling into his lap, unable to contain herself. Raife moaned like he was in pain when she tumbled into his arms, so eager for him she scrambled to get closer, desperate for more of the hard press of his chest against the soft give of her breasts, the way his hands roamed through her thick, red hair.

“I want ye,” he confessed, breathless, when they parted. “But I do’na just want yer maidenhood. I want all of ye. If I can’na have that—”

“Don’t you know how much I want you?” she choked. “How much I want to be yours? Really and truly yours?”

“Ye realize what yer askin’?” His eyes were bright with the knowledge, and the fire in his gaze matched her own.

“Yes,” she whispered, knowing only that she wanted him, needed him, that more than anything, she loved him. She had never experienced anything like it before, and knew she never would again.

“Tomorrow I’ll declare ye as my mate in front of our family, our pack.” His words thrilled her to her very core and she trembled with anticipation in his arms. “Tonight, I claim ye as mine own.”

Finally.

Her body screamed it, her mind too, as she wrapped herself around him, giving into the feelings that had been building between them for overlong. Raife held her in his arms a long time in the firelight, kissing her lips until they were raw and swollen and she was desperate for more, something more, but she didn’t know what. She felt as if she wanted to climb inside his skin and wear him like a coat.

“Hungry li’l thing,” he murmured against her mouth as she pulled at her clothes, too hot to keep wearing them. “Easy now. Let me.”

She watched, reclining on the rug, swallowing hard as he unbuckled her leather belt, pulling it through the loops on her plaid. This caused it all to fall apart in his hands, the yards and yards of material coming away in an instant. Her Scots clothes gave no resistance. There was no corset, nor a hundred tiny buttons to wrestle with. She surrendered the last bit of her clothing herself, pulling her shirt off over her head, leaving her completely nude on the rug.

“Bóidheach.” Raife’s gaze moved over her form and his hands followed, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the gentle slope of her thighs.

“Mine,” she whispered, reaching for his thick, leather belt, unbuckling it.

“Aye,” he whispered again as he pulled off his plaid in the dimness.

She’d never been so afraid in her life, even watching him change into a wolf, as she was when he disrobed for the first time in front of her. Looking at him, rising up stiff and erect, her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to expect now that they were both naked together, whether it was from man, wolf or wulver. The stories she’d heard her ladies’ maids tell had contained a lot of innuendo but not a lot of details.

“I’m afraid,” she confessed, clinging to him as he leaned in to kiss her.

“I do’na want to harm ye,” he whispered, feathering kisses over her bare shoulders. “Och, lass, ye are so beautiful. It hurts me heart. “

She smiled, fingers playing in his long, dark hair as he lowered his mouth to her breast.

“Oh!” Sibyl cried out when his tongue flickered back and forth against her nipple, staring at him, aghast at the sensation. Was it supposed to feel like this? She remembered watching babes suckling at their mother’s teats but she had never in her wildest dreams imagined it would be like this.

Raife chuckled, rolling one nipple between thumb and forefinger, continuing to assault her other breast with the hot lash of his tongue. She couldn’t help the low moan that escaped her throat, the way her hands groped him in the dimness, finding all the lean, hard slopes of his body, so different from her own softness, beyond exciting.

He kissed and suckled at her breasts for a long time, so long it made her squirm and cry out, begging him for more, although more of what, she still wasn’t sure. It was endless, exquisite torture, his titillating exploration of the open, yielding terrain of her body. She gave herself over to the sensation, gave herself over to him, to the flickering quiver of his tongue, to the rough press of his hands against the small of her back, pulling her into the saddle of his hips.

“Oh Raife,” she whispered, her thighs trembling as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She couldn’t stand this torture, not for another moment. “Please, oh please, I want you.”

He let out a low groan when she rocked her hips against him.

“It may hurt ye.” He sounded regretful as he lowered his forehead to her breasts, nuzzling her still, sending shockwaves through her body. “I will go slow.”

She nodded, whimpering when she felt him press between her open thighs, so hot and throbbing, insistent. There was no resistance on her part. She received him with every breath. Even the cry that escaped her throat when he finally pushed into her was an affirmation, welcoming him home. Raife stopped, poised above her when Sibyl’s nails dug into his neck, her heels into his lower back, meeting her gaze in the firelight.

The tears that trembled in her eyes weren’t from pain or fear. How could she tell him they were tears of joy at being his, finally, completely and utterly his? Raife leaned in and kissed her eyes closed, kissed the tears from them, no words between them. There was no need for them.

He moved in her and it was like flying. Her arms slipped around his neck, face buried there as they rode toward release together. Her body was taut, wound up like a lute string, a hunger burning in her like she’d never experienced before. She knew what it was like to crave this man, to spend her days longing for him, but this was entirely new. How was it possible to have him in her arms and still want him just as much?

“Oh Raife, please!” she begged him over and over, yearning for more, her body twisting and thrusting up against him all on its own, as if she might attain some sort of relief from the fever burning between her thighs. So much heat. So much delicious friction.

“Och, my love!” he cried, his motions matching her own fervor, impaling her again and again with steel heat, forged between her legs. Sibyl clung to him just as she did when he took her for a ride as wolf, squeezing him between her thighs, feeling the hard, muscled planes of his body working as she grasped for something just out of reach.

Almost there, she thought. Almost there.

“Oh!” Sibyl’s eyes flew open, meeting his dark, midnight blue gaze. His eyes were dark in the firelight, focused solely on hers, their bodies slick and slippery as they came together. “Oh, Raife!”

She called his name, her whole body quivering with feeling as he gave one, final shuddering thrust of his hips, a cry escaping his lips as they both took one final, flying leap toward freedom, coming crashing down to earth together as one quaking mass of flesh. She cried. She couldn’t help the overwhelming emotion that overtook her body and she sobbed in his arms.

“I hurt ye, lass, och! I’m so sorry,” he whispered, kissing her wet cheeks again and again, and then she was laughing, because he had so misunderstood her feeling. They were tears of pure joy, not pain. She had never been in any less pain—at least, in her heart—as she was at that moment.

“No! No!” she protested, holding him fast.

“You are a dervish, woman,” Raife complained when he went to move from her but she clung to him, desperate to keep him with her, in her, forever. If they could just stay this way and lock the world out, life would be perfection, she reasoned.

“I am your dervish,” she whispered back, and he kissed her, claiming her mouth as his own, just as he had claimed the rest of her from the inside out.

“I did hurt ye.” Raife frowned when she finally let him climb off of her, looking down at the blood staining the lamb’s wool in the firelight.

“Nay, ye claimed me.” She touched his cheek. “Sometimes claiming what’s yours involves a little bloodshed. ’T’was worth it.”

“Listen to ye.” He grinned down at her as he stood and stretched, his body like carved bronze in the firelight. “Yer sounding more like a Scot every day.”

“When can we do it again?” She put her arms around him and climbed him like a tree.

“I have so much more to teach ye.” He laughed, kissing her fully on the mouth, holding her little body in his arms.

“More?” Her eyes lit up.

“Let’s go clean up.”

The hot spring was the purest of luxuries. She thought everyone in England would live in a mountain if they knew about hot springs. The water was warm without the need of a fire, like magic. Raife lit a torch on the wall as they went through a door in their room, deeper into the mountain, into a cavern.

“Are ye ready to be a wulver’s mate?” he called as she slipped into the warmth of the steaming water, moaning softly at the sensation.

“Isn’t that what we just did?” she teased, reaching for him, letting him lift her as he got in, too, buoyant.

“I am pack leader,” he reminded her, kissing the freckled on her shoulders. “There will be other responsibilities.”

“My mother tried to make me a good girl and learn all about how to run a household, but alas,” Sybil lamented. “I was better at shooting and riding.”

“Yer strengths are suited to our life here, lass.” Raife slid his hands over her under the water, following her curves. “It’s like ye were born to be here.”

“Maybe I was.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “Maybe it was God’s hand who guided me here after all. If God could curse us, mayhaps he could save us too.”

“Mayhaps.” He kissed her softly, the steam rising all around them. “Ye are a wonder, Sybil Blackthorne.”

“What will be my new name?” she wondered aloud.

“Yer new name?”

“Don’t I take your name, when we are married?”

“We do’na have written contracts here.” He smiled. “We’ll have a declaration and a marking. Followed by a giant feast. And then three days alone so I can ravish ye in every possible position...”

“I like the sound of that…” She sighed happily, tilting her head so he could kiss her throat.

“But ye will still be called Sybil Blackthorne,” he said, meeting her eyes in the dim light. “I do’na need a change of names to know ye are mine. Ye will forever be mine no matter what ye are called.”

She had cringed at the thought of becoming Sybil MacFalon, but she rather liked the idea of becoming Sybil…Wulver? Did the wulvers even have surnames? Blackthorne was her family name, associated with her father, whom she loved, but a mother who had given her to her uncle to do with as he wished. The name had been a mixed blessing her whole life.

Sybil’s head came up and she looked at her new mate and future husband through the rising steam, frowning, a thought suddenly occurring to her.

I never told him my full name.

Had she? She could have sworn she had not.

“Raife…?”

“Yes, lass?” He didn’t open his eyes. He looked so relaxed and content, floating with her in the water.

“How… how did you know my family name?”

The question hung between them. Raife slowly opened his eyes, meeting hers. She saw something flicker there before he answered, something that told her he wasn’t going to tell her the truth. Or maybe, not all of it.

“’Tis common knowledge the MacFalon was marrying a Blackthorne,” he said.

Mayhaps that was true. But she frowned and traced the lines between his brows with her fingers, realizing she’d come to know him far more than she had let on. She knew this man’s expressions, when he was being honest, and when he was not. Especially since the latter was so uncommon between them.

“You heard that, all the way up here, in the mountain?” She kissed his cheek, water beading there.

“It’s my job to know these things.” He raised his brows at her. “I can’na protect my pack without that knowledge. We’ve avoided war with the MacFalons for twenty years. That was my father’s legacy and I want it to live on.”

“The wolf pact.” She sighed, snuggling her head under his chin. “Everything is politics.”

“Not everything.” Raife’s hand moved to cup her breast and she smiled. But she wasn’t willing to let him distract her so easily. Like the wulvers, she had scented something, and she was going to follow it. She just wasn’t exactly sure where she was headed.

“Your father…?” she asked softly. “King Henry?”

She felt his spine straighten at her words.

“Who told ye about that?”

“Just… gossip…” She shrugged. “You’re not the only one who pays attention, you know.”

“’Tis true.” Raife sighed. “Although I would like to forget it more often than not.”

“But he created the wolf pact, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Raife agreed. “But it was for his own personal gain, ye ken? He wanted the MacFalons and the wulvers united against a common enemy.”

“King Edward IV.”

“Aye.” Raife’s mouth pursed into a thin line before he went on. “So the Tudors could sit on the throne again. He came here just after the Anglo-Saxon wars. We did’na care for the English and neither did the MacFalons, but fightin’ for Henry meant my father could gain some measure of peace in our pack. We could stop fightin’ the Scots and mayhaps go into the woods without fear of our women being hunted and killed… or raped.”

“Raped…” She shuddered, something suddenly occurring to her that hadn’t before. The wulver women had spoken of it as a romance, the relationship between King Henry VII and Raife’s mother. But now that she understood the bond between a wulver and his mate, she wasn’t so sure. “Your mother? And King Henry?”

“She did’na love the man,” he replied flatly. “She did’na much of a choice in the matter.”

That thought made Sybil shiver in spite of the heat of the water.

“And she became pregnant with you?” she murmured, thinking out loud. “But I thought wulvers shift when they’re in heat? Don’t they change into wolf form?”

“Aye, lass, they do.”

Sybil stared at him while he let that sink in.

Laina lamented not being able to be with Darrow in human form when she was in heat, at her most fervent. She would change with little warning, and be unable to change back until her moon blood cycle had passed. It happened to all the wulver females. If Raife’s mother, Avril, had become pregnant with him, that meant she had turned. And while she was in her wolf form, King Henry had…

“No…” Sibyl’s eyes widened in shock. “He took her when she was… as a wolf?”

“Aye.” His jaw hardened, his eyes dark in the light of the lamp. “Some men see wulver women as a challenge.”

“Good God.” She closed her eyes against it. That poor woman, Sybil thought. She couldn’t imagine what she’d been through. She’d watched her friend give birth in a cage and then be murdered by the MacFalon, was taken prisoner herself, and then what? She’d been kept in a cage as a freak show, something to be shown off by the MacFalon when guests arrived? Guests like Henry Tudor, the possible future king of England?

“Did your father know? I mean… Darrow’s father…?”

“Garaith is my father. I think of him always that way,” Raife told her. “He treated me always as his son.”

“But he knew that you weren’t really his son?”

“Eventually, aye.” Raife’s face was pained. “But not when Henry made the pact. Not when he got the MacFalons and the wulvers to agree to fight for him.”

“Your mother didn’t tell him,” she whispered, knowing it was true. Of course Avril wouldn’t tell her husband, her wulver mate, what had happened to her while she’d been captured. And Sybil’s womanly heart knew instantly why Raife’s mother had kept it a secret.

“Not afirst,” Raife said, confirming Sybil’s suspicions. “If my father had known, he would have…”

“It would have been war,” she murmured.

“Aye. She was trying to save us from that,” Raife said, his voice hoarse. “And I think she did.”

“But she was pregnant,” Sybil mused aloud. “She couldn’t hide that for long.”

“My father took the pack hunting for Henry’s crown,” he reminded her. “He was’na here for my birth.”

“And when he returned?”

“I was raised by Bietris until she pupped Darrow. Then she finally told my father the truth.”

“But he didn’t go after Henry?” Sybil wondered aloud.

“By then, Henry had been crowned king of England. And my father had seen the result of living peacefully here in the mountain, without constant threats from the MacFalon,” Raife explained. “Alistair’s father, Lachlan MacFalon, was a different sort of man. He was enjoying the peace and quiet as much as my father and our pack.”

“Your poor mother…”

“She was a strong woman. And brave.” Raife lifted Sibyl’s chin, smiling into her eyes. “Like you.”

“She obviously loved you and your father very much.” She kissed him softly, her lips wet not just from the hot springs water, but also from the tears slipping down her cheeks. The sacrifice Raife’s mother had made for her pack, for her mate, made her own look small in comparison. But she knew, she would do anything for Raife, even what Avril, his mother, had done.

“My father would have done anything for peace after Laina’s mother was killed and his own wife taken,” Raife said, speaking Sybil’s thoughts aloud. “Sondra—Laina’s mother—was his brother’s own wife.”

“The MacFalons...” She said the name with such bitterness. “I wish I’d never heard of them.”

“The names matter naught, in the end.”

“What do you mean?” She lifted her head to look at him.

“MacFalons, wulvers, Scots, English. Men should be ready to fight when they have to—but far too many men want to go to war when there is no real reason. Peace is possible, and I think, when he made the wolf pact, Henry finally discovered a way to unite warring factions that worked.”

“A piece of paper?” she scoffed. “The wolf pact?”

“No, lass—the promise of a woman.”

“I don’t understand.” Sibyl wrinkled her nose, puzzled.

“The English and the Scots had already seen fighting for East March in the Anglo-Saxon wars. We Scots are a hearty lot. They can’t beat us down for long. Fighting the Scots wasn’t going to work and Henry knew it.”

“So he made you all sign a piece of paper?” The wolf pact. As if a piece of paper could keep men from fighting, she thought. It had worked for a short time, but Alistair had broken it by caging and killing wulvers again. There was no piece of paper that could bind a man so completely…

And then, Sybil realized—mayhaps there was.

A pact could be broken. Peace treaties were signed all the time, and men still went to war.

But a marriage contract? That was something altogether different. That was a holy covenant, sanctioned by God and the pope himself. It was undissolvable, or nearly so.

“What did Henry promise to give them, if the MacFalons and the wulvers fought for and won him the crown?” Sybil swallowed, afraid of the answer.

“You.” Raife said it, sounding so sad, and it hit her in the heart like an arrow. “Ye were the prize, the MacFalon’s spoils of war.”

“But I wasn’t even born!”

“Not quite,” he agreed. “Because it wasn’t ye, not at first. Your family have long been Tudor supporters. Your father and his brother?”

“Yes. Of course,” she agreed. “The Blackthornes have always been favorites of the Tudors.”

“Yer uncle once had a young wife and a daughter, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” It had been before she was born, but she’d been told about it by both her mother and her father. Her uncle had never remarried. “But they both died of fever...”

“Aye. But that girl was promised to the MacFalon,” Raife informed her, a fact Sybil’s parents had both failed to mention. “Godfrey Blackthorne was here with Henry in 1483. He promised his own daughter in marriage to a Scot in exchange for lands and a better title. He was the second son, after all…”

“And then she died…” Sibyl remembered the way her uncle had treated her after her father’s death, how he had treated her mother too. They were little more than property to him. A means to an end. Would he have treated his own daughter the same way? She had often wondered that, but now she knew the answer.

“Aye. ’Tis lucky for your uncle that you were a girl and could be promised to the MacFalon’s son.” Raife shook his dark head, kissing the top of hers.

“Lucky I was a girl…” she whispered. She’d never expected to hear that phrase in her whole life.

All that time her father had spent lamenting she wasn’t a boy! She had heard the arguments about who she would and would not marry her whole life. In the end, while her mother capitulated and often agreed with Sibyl’s uncle, her father had put his foot down.

Until her father had died and her uncle had married her mother and suddenly had final say in who she married…

“King Henry promised the MacFalons an English bride, a highborn lady, and everythin’ that came with it,” Raife told her. “All the riches, the land, the titles. Henry had no daughters at the time, but he promised the MacFalon his son would marry a Blackthorne, the daughter of his very own right hand man.”

“Godfrey Blackthorne.” Sybil’s uncle. “But that couldn’t happen because they died...”

“Yer uncle still worked out a way to keep his favor with the king and peace on the border.”

He certainly had.

Growing up, Sybil had been so close to her father, it seemed strange to her not to have a champion around when he was gone. Her life had turned completely upside down after his sudden death, and in her grief, while she had questioned her uncle’s precipitous marriage to her mother and his control over their fortune, she hadn’t paid enough attention. Not nearly enough.

She had been sheltered by her father, protected more than she knew. Once her uncle was involved in deciding her future, her world had crumbled around her. Her father had often said, “Sibyl will marry for love, not fortune,” when her mother pressed the point that Sybil was growing older, into her marriageable years.

It was her uncle who had been there all along, working behind the scenes, orchestrating a match that would benefit himself, as well as king and country. Sibyl would be given in marriage to Alistair MacFalon as their reward, the spoils of war. A contract that couldn’t be broken, once it was made, one that solidified the bond between the English and Scottish far greater than any peace treaty.

But he never could have done so if Sibyl’s father had been around to protest it.

That realization made her stomach turn over.

She remembered her father in his last days. He had taken suddenly ill after dinner one night, and no amount of medicine would make him better. She had, with their local apothecary, tried everything, but he could hold nothing down. It all ran through him, until there was nothing left. It was days from the onset of the illness until his death, just days, and she had barely had time to grieve his loss before her uncle had been petitioning the king to marry his brother’s wife.

It was an arrangement that required not only the king’s blessing, but the pope’s as well, because while not blood related, marrying your brother’s widow was frowned upon. Of course, Godfrey Blackthorne had the king’s ear and could get what he liked. Her uncle always seemed to manage to get what he wanted, no matter the cost.

Sybil let Raife pull her close, his arms around her comforting, as she closed her eyes and remembered who had just happened to be visiting the night her father had taken ill. Would his own brother have done something so horrible, so heinous? She couldn’t imagine it, didn’t want to, but her uncle’s motivations had suddenly become clear.

Had her uncle killed her father—poisoned him, mayhaps? With Sybil’s father gone, he could not only honor the king’s wishes and provide the MacFalons with a highborn daughter to marry, he could also inherit all of his brother’s lands, his title—even his wife. Because a marriage contract, that was a covenant that could not be broken. Once her uncle was married to his brother’s widow, he would inherit everything. And once Sybil was married to Alistair MacFalon…

“Marriage.” She spoke the word softly, feeling it tighten around her neck like a hand. How close she had been to marrying a man she not only didn’t love, but one that would have spent a lifetime treating her like his property. She wondered, now, what her father’s motivation had been, treating his girl like a boy. Mayhaps he had hoped to protect her from his brother’s plan, and in the end, he had—even though his trust in his family had cost him his life.

It was the strength he had instilled in her that had given her the courage to escape.

Without that, she never would have met Raife.

“Are ye proposin’, lass?” Raife grinned, running a wet hand over her hip.

“I’m already yours,” she reminded him with a smile. “I just realized… what you said. It’s marriage. That’s how the king seeks to end the border wars.”

“Aye,” Raife agreed. “He has now promised his own daughter, Lady Margaret, to James IV. Henry finally found what works to keep the peace. Join two warring factions by marriage. Men are hotheaded, ’tis true. Look at Darrow. But wives and mothers will not stand by and watch their sons slaughtered, their daughters widowed.”

“Yes, Darrow is the hot-headed one,” she teased, remembering Raife’s reaction when his brother had taken her out into the woods alone.

“I am not hot-headed,” he protested. “I have worked hard to keep the peace my father sacrificed for.”

“You are more passionate than you let on.”

“About some things.” He smiled, meeting her eyes.

“And you have risked it all for me.” She swallowed, knowing it was true. “To mate with me.”

“Ye are mine, Sibyl Blackthorne.” Those blue eyes of his darkened as he took her fully into his arms, her body fitted to his like hand in glove. “Ye are my chosen. My mate. I will’na let him have you.”

“But at what cost?” she murmured, closing her eyes in pleasure as he kissed her neck. “Will there be war again?”

“The border skirmishes grow less factious every year,” Raife replied, his breath hot against her collarbone, his mouth a wonderful distraction. “The MacFalons will get over their injury. Alistair will lick his wounds and King Henry will find another highborn English lady for him to bed. He can’na have mine.”

“No, he cannot,” Sibyl agreed happily enough, moaning softly when Raife’s mouth found her breast.

She didn’t want to think about Alistair, or her uncle, or any other man besides this one.

But Raife’s words stayed with her. Would Alistair back down? In his heart, Alistair was a coward. But it was his pride that was injured, and she didn’t know if he would recover from that. Raife was so honorable, she knew he didn’t understand a man like Alistair, but Sybil had lived with her uncle, and they were two peas in a pod. Alistair was the type of man who would stab another man in the back. Or murder a wolf in a cage and drag it out as if he had made a real kill.

It wasn’t so much what was true, as what it looked like on the outside, to the rest of the world, that mattered to men like Alistair MacFalon and Godfrey Blackthorne.

“What’s the matter, lass?” Raife lifted his head to look at her when she didn’t fully respond to his caresses.

“So much pain and sacrifice,” she murmured, putting her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, so grateful to be here with him she could barely breathe. Everything that had happened in the past—Sondra’s death, Avril’s capture, even Raife’s unplanned conception—it all seemed to culminate here, for her and Raife, for their future offspring and the generations that had yet to come. “Your poor mother, your father…”

“Our children will not have to sacrifice so much for peace.” Raife’s eyes grew serious as he looked at her. There was so much pain and heartache there, she wouldn’t add any more to it. He’d been through enough. His pack, and his kind, had sacrificed more than enough.

“We do not have children,” she reminded him with a soft, devious smile, sliding her hand down to capture him, firm and at the ready.

He grinned. “We’d better get to making some then.”

Chapter Nine

Raife had said he would declare her his mate to the pack the next day, but they didn’t leave their room the next day. Or the day after that. Kirstin brought them food and drink, and they needed the sustenance, that was certain! And whenever Raife or Sybil would answer the door, Kirstin’s eyes would sparkle and she would flash a knowing smile, but she never said a word.

It wasn’t until the third day, when Sybil was so sore she could hardly walk, that Kirstin finally spoke up. But she didn’t say the words Sybil expected to hear—no teasing or jest about her pack leader’s newly chosen mate—but rather gave her a message that would change her life forever.

Raife was sleeping by the fire when the knock came. Sybil heard it, a small, tentative thing. Too early for breakfast, she thought, getting up and pulling on her shirt to go investigate. Kirstin was standing out there in the tunnel and beckoned Sibyl to come with her.

“What is it?” Raife was awake, calling for her, as she put on her plaid and tied her shoes.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be right back,” Sibyl whispered. “Someone is in need of a healer.”

It was a white lie, and perhaps not a lie at all. Kirstin had been quite urgent and was, still, as Sybil joined her in the tunnel. They walked together, heading toward the kitchen, as Kirstin finally told her.

“The MacFalons have Laina.” Her words were whispered, choked. She sounded so very afraid and there were tears in her eyes.

“What?” Sibyl slowed, stopped, staring at the woman in disbelief. It couldn’t be true. It simply couldn’t.

“The scouts just came back with the news,” she whispered, glancing up and down the tunnels, as if someone might overhear. “They are going to tell Raife and Darrow.”

“No,” Sybil breathed, grabbing Kirstin’s shoulders and shaking her. “No! They will go after her and then…”

Kirstin’s eyes grew even bigger, and Sybil didn’t even know it was possible. They were already as big as saucers in her pale face. Sybil cursed Laina under her breath.

“Was she out looking for huluppu?”

“What else?”

“Is she… alive?” Sybil didn’t even want to think about the alternative. Although, after what Raife had told her about his mother, she knew there were things that could happen to a woman that had further-reaching consequences than a quick death.

“They took her to the MacFalons,” Kirstin whispered as they approached the kitchen. It was still early and most of the pack was still asleep, wrapped up in their plaids in front of the big fireplace. “The scouts say they painted a message inside the cage. In blood.”

“In Laina’s blood?” All the color drained out of Sybil’s face.

“The MacFalon is out to start a war,” Kirstin whispered as they tiptoed through the kitchen. “He is defying the pact.”

“He wants me.” Sybil said this as they stepped out into the cool morning air. The sun was just coming up over the horizon. “This is about me.”

“I think so.” Kirstin nodded, standing there in the cold, shivering, her eyes wild with fear.

“I can’t… I can’t let this happen.” Sybil looked around the valley, at this place she had come to call home. A place that felt more like home than any other ever had, even her father’s own estate. Then she met Kirstin’s eyes and knew why the woman had come to her, why she had pulled her aside to tell her quietly, without yet involving Raife or Darrow. Why she had led her out here in the morning light.

Kirstin was a wulver woman. She knew sometimes sacrifices had to made, that there were some things the heart of a man just couldn’t handle. And Sybil was a part of them now. This was her pack—this was her family. Her worst fear had come to pass. Alistair was going to start a war. He was willing to risk it all simply to retain his property. She was nothing but a possession to him, something that had been stolen. Something he wanted returned.

And, like a demented, twisted child, he was going to get his toy back, no matter the cost.

If that meant war—well, that was a game to him too, wasn’t it?

But Sybil knew the costs, the real costs in human and wulver blood. Laina’s had already been spilled. She prayed her friend was still alive. The image of little Garaith filled her mind, and she couldn’t imagine him growing up without his mother. How many more wulver lives would be lost because of Alistair’s selfishness? She imagined Alistair’s men coming into the tunnels, the stream running with wulver blood, and her heart broke into a thousand pieces.

This was her family, now more than ever. Raife’s face came into her mind and she heard his objections in her head, even though he didn’t yet know this news. He would choose another, far more dangerous solution than the one she was about to undertake. But war was no solution. She had to keep the peace—the peace his mother had sacrificed for, the peace his father had fought for, the peace they all had come to accept and expect.

She would have to make this sacrifice to save them all.

She put her arms around Kirstin and the two women hugged, hanging onto each other tightly, knowing it would be the last time they embraced.

Kirstin already had a pack for her and Sibyl teared up when she saw her little satchel, the one she had pinned under her skirts when she had escaped Alistair MacFalon. Was she really going to do this? But when she met her friend’s eyes, she knew there was no other way. The wulvers would ride out if Laina wasn’t returned, and she couldn’t risk Raife’s life, the lives of everyone in the pack, when all Alistair wanted, in this end, was his own way.

He wanted his property back. Sybil would simply return it to him.

“There is water, some food,” Kirstin told her. “You must hurry.”

But there was no time.

There was always a sentry at the entrance of the cave. She couldn’t go that way, and besides, she needed something faster than her own feet. She was no wulver. She couldn’t cross the rocky terrain on foot like they could, faster than any human. Kirstin hugged her one more time before heading back into the mountain, letting Sybil do what she must.

The horses were penned, and she found Angus, the horse Raife often let her ride, in the dimness, calling to him with a special whistle. She didn’t give herself time to think. She saddled the horse and climbed on, knowing if she was going to do this, she had to do it fast, before Raife awoke and found her gone. Before the scouts had a chance to tell him and Darrow how Laina had been captured by Alistair and used as bait to lure them all into a bloody trap.

The horse didn’t want to go. It nickered and pawed at the ground when Sibyl climbed up onto its back. She urged it on, squeezing its flanks between her bare thighs and steering the horse upward, through the mountain path. She had never been on it, but she knew where it went. Raife had told her about the treacherous way up and then down the mountain, a pathway no human had ever travailed. Only wulver warriors had the skill to traverse this path.

And she was neither.

Thankfully, the horse knew the way, had traveled it more than once in its lifetime, had been taken up and down the mountain during training exercises that were, finally, serving some purpose. Sibyl leaned over the horse’s neck, holding onto the bridle, and let it take her where it would. There was nothing else to do, except hold on and pray. The path was little more than the rocky edge of a cliff, the shear drop-off so steep she couldn’t see the side of the mountain if she dared to look down to her left.

The path wound up, up, taking her higher into the mountains until she gasped for breath and clung to Angus’s mane, her eyesight blurring and her mind bolting. She wanted nothing more than to escape. The early morning cold made her bones ache and her teeth chatter. What had she been thinking, stealing a horse and riding away into the mountains? What did she think she was going to accomplish?

But she knew, and kept it out in front of her as she managed to stay on the horse as it neared the top of the mountain and started down the other side. She was going to sacrifice herself for the man she loved. A war between the MacFalons—and their local border allies in the Middle March—and the wulvers would bring King Henry’s wrath down on all of them. So what if he had once negotiated a peaceful pact between them? It had been in his best interest to do so. He needed the wulver warriors and the Scots to unite and fight for his right to wear the crown.

Now that crown—and all the power than came with it—belonged to him alone.

No matter how strong the wulvers, no matter if one of their warriors was worth ten of Henry’s, eventually the numbers would win out. Raife would be killed, Darrow too. They would all be slaughtered, the females widowed, the babies orphaned, left alone to fend for themselves in the mountain. Sibyl thought of Kirstin, of Laina’s baby, and clung more tightly to her horse.

She could stop this. If she simply returned and offered herself to Alistair, to do with as he wished, she could get him to let Laina go. His pride had been wounded, and mayhaps he would take her back and marry her after all. Or mayhaps he would set her aside, return her as damaged goods to her uncle, who would likely attempt to beat sense into her until she was senseless.

Not that any of that mattered.

They could do anything they wanted—Alistair, his men, her uncle. It wouldn’t matter, as long as they freed Laina and honored the pact.

The horse, so used to following the path, wanted to turn around and go back. She had to steer it onward, thankful she had spent so much time with Darrow searching for the huluppu tree. She knew how to get back to Alistair’s land, the border between Scotland and England—the borderland between worlds, between humans and wulvers.

She found the path where she had found the huluppu tree, found it growing, healthy and strong, on the other side of the stream. It was mid-morning when she found the cage, the horrible word, written in blood, goading Raife and Darrow and the rest of the wulvers to war.

“Tiugainn.”

Come.

In Laina’s blood. Oh Laina, Laina, please hang on, Sibyl thought, tasting her own blood in her mouth where she’d worried the inside of her cheek raw. She glimpsed the tree where she had pinned Alistair with an arrow and wished she had a longbow now. But it wouldn’t do her any good. One woman and one bow were nothing. She couldn’t stand up to Alistair and the MacFalons.

She couldn’t do anything but surrender.

The day was warm, the bluebells so thick on the forest floor she could hardly see green. The mountain’s chill faded as she rode closer to the MacFalon castle. Something in the distance, behind her, gave her pause as she stopped her horse just shy of the edge of the woods.

The long, keening howl of a wolf.

A wulver.

It was Raife. She knew her mate’s call, would know it anywhere, and he was and would forever be her mate, she realized. It wouldn’t matter if Alistair accepted her back, married her, and she spent her life with the MacFalons, raising his children as Scots. Raife would forever have her heart.

She knew Raife’s mother had felt the same about Darrow’s father, even if she had sacrificed herself to a king. Avril had already been mated to and in love with Garaith, was being held prisoner when King Henry had taken a fancy to her. A woman’s heart knew the truth—and while Sybil would be forever grateful that Raife had been the result of her sacrifice—she understood now what it was to really love someone.

To love them so much you would give your own life to save theirs.

And what else could Avril have believed, except that Henry, who would someday sit on the throne of England, already had the power to wipe out her entire pack? Henry had been a kind captor, but a captor nonetheless. And in the end, he had let her go, had given her back in exchange for an army of wulver warriors who had fought for his right to wear the crown.

All in the name of peace.

“Raife.” Sybil whispered his name, feeling him still, tasting him on her lips, her body filled with him. It always would be, now. She wore the shape of his heart within her breast, and nothing else would ever fill it again. She was his and always would be, no matter what happened now.

She hadn’t stopped to think, had just stolen this horse and rode out with the hope she could avert a disaster, but she stopped now. She stopped and remembered him, every look, every touch. How much time they’d wasted, how many couplings she had missed out on, too afraid to say yes to him, to life, to love. But how sweet those few joinings had been, how perfect, how complete. They would last her forever.

They would have to.

“Tha mi gu dòigheal,” she whispered in Gaelic. I love you, Raife. I never said the words, but I do. I love you more than life itself.

She rode out into the clearing alone, head held high.

Alistair’s men met her halfway to the castle. She had hoped Donal would be among them, that he would listen to reason, but he wasn’t. The same Scots who had made derogatory comments about her behind her back were no longer afraid to make them to her face. They called her a harlot, a strumpet, a whore. The one called Gregor grabbed the horse’s bridle and spit in her face. He yanked her by the arm, pulling her off her horse and throwing her face first across his saddle.

And Sibyl just hung her head and let them, thinking the whole while, I love you, Raife.

That was all she knew and all that mattered.

* * * *

She hadn’t expected kindness from anyone, but Moira clucked and fussed over her as much as she ever had. Sibyl didn’t realize it would be so hard to give up her plaid, how dependent she had become on its warmth, its safety, its freedom. Moira threw it in the fire and burned it and Sibyl had never been more bereft. It was as if her heart had been thrown into that fire. The tears came, relentless. She couldn’t stop them and she stopped trying after a while.

“Ye have gone and done it now,” Moira whispered as she cinched Sibyl into a corset that crushed her ribs and forced her breath up high in her chest. “I’m surprised the MacFalon will still have ye.”

So was Sibyl. She had yet to see Alistair, but she was being groomed and dressed for him. They had started calling him “the MacFalon” in her absence. She wondered at that—his men hadn’t the respect for him they had for his father, at least that had been the case when she left. But things had changed and she couldn’t quite understand why or how.

“Yer to be married to him today.” Moira nodded as the women brought in Sibyl’s wedding dress, the train so long it took four of them to bring it all in.

“Today?” Sybil felt her knees go weak at the thought, at the sight of that wedding dress she couldn’t imagine wearing. “But I must speak with him!”

“Ye will have plenty of time after yer married fer that.”

“You don’t understand,” Sybil whispered. She had been on MacFalon land already for over an hour. If he didn’t let Laina go—and soon—the wulvers would come looking for her, armed and ready to do battle. “He must let her go.”

“Her?” Moira raised her bushy white eyebrows. “The she-wolf?”

“I hear she threw herself on a spike when one of the men tried to... be with her…” One of the other girls whispered. Sybil recognized her as one of the kitchen maids. Moira had enlisted extra help today, since Sybil was to be sewn into her wedding dress.

“No,” Sybil whispered, looking between the two younger women with wide eyes as they snugged Sybil’s wedding dress down over her hips.

“Why would ye?” The dark-haired scullery maid gasped in shock at this news. “It would be like lying with a dog!”

“Well I would’na mind being with one,” the blonde remarked with a grin that showed a considerable gap in her teeth. “If he was hung like a dog…”

All the women cackled at that and Sibyl couldn’t stand it another minute.

“Where is Donal?” she asked. There was no one else who would listen to reason. Maybe she could talk to him, if they weren’t going to let her see Alistair before the wedding.

“Alistair has had him locked up down the hall,” the gap-toothed blonde told her, arranging Sybil’s long train behind her.

“He came to the defense of the she-wolf,” the dark-haired one snorted. “He didn’t want her harmed. He said if they broke the wolf pact, the wulvers would come for her…”

“Of course they will come for her.” Sybil rolled her eyes, glancing at the open door. Half her train was still stuck in the hallway.

“Come back ’ere!” Moira called as Sybil grabbed a knife off the table, where the maids had put a tray of bread, meat and cheese, and stalked out of the room.

Sybil ignored the maids and Moira, wading through the fabric of her wedding dress toward the man standing at the end of the hallway. It was the one called Gregor—the same one who had thrown her over his saddle, who had pulled up her plaid to spank her in front of the men, and who likely would have done more, if another man hadn’t ordered him to take her inside.

“Where is Laina?” She held the dagger up, snarling at the guard. “The wolf—the wulver. The she-wolf. Where is she?”

“I… I do’na know,” he stammered, glancing down the hall at the maids, who gathered up the length of Sybil’s train as they made their way toward them.

“Who do you guard behind this door?” she demanded to know, still brandishing the knife.

“Sybil?” Came a muffled voice. “Lady Blackthorne?”

“Donal!” She brightened at the sound of him, pounding on the door. He pounded back, definitely behind it.

“My brother wants war with the wulvers!” he called. “Let me out of here!”

“Let him out,” Sybil told the guard. “Do it. Now.”

“I can’na.” The man mopped his greasy brow with the back of his hand, frowning at her. “I have me orders.”

“Come back now, ye hear me?” Moira tugged at Sybil’s train—the women had caught up. “Come get ready fer yer weddin.”

“You will open this door,” Sybil insisted, hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife, pointing it straight at the man’s chest. “Or I will stab you straight through the heart with this before you can even draw your sword.”

The women behind her gasped, but Sybil ignored them.

“Do not test me,” she snapped, eyes flashing.

The guard took one look at Sybil’s face and then fumbled for his keys. He undid the big padlock and Donal rushed out of the room, knocking the man flat on his back, the wind escaping his throat in a hiss.

“Stay down,” Donal instructed, drawing the man’s sword before he could even think about getting up.

“Donal, you have to help me,” Sybil begged. She knew he would listen to her—especially now that she’d discovered Alistair had him locked up. “Your brother has broken the wolf pact. Do you know where Laina is?”

Just the mention of the woman’s name brought tears to Sybil’s eyes.

“Lady Blackthorne, you must come wit me.” Moira wasn’t just pulling on Sybil’s train now, she was yanking on it. “I must get ye ready for yer weddin’!”

“I will worry about my wedding later!” Sybil cried, grabbing a yard of the fabric attached at her waist and yanking it back, making the older woman stumble. “Right now I have more important things to concern myself with!”

“How do ye know of the wolf pact?” Donal asked, frowning at the guard still on the ground as he inched his way past Sybil, the fabric of her dress making it difficult to move along the floor.

“I have been living with the wulvers this whole while,” she explained, hearing the maids gasp again. That little piece of gossip would keep them going for years, she thought. “Do you know where she is? If he will just her go, war can be avoided.”

“I do’na know.” Donal shook his head. “I came to her defense, and I ended up locked in ’ere.”

“What?” Sybil gasped as she felt her train being tugged again, but this time it wasn’t Moira or the maids. This time it was the guard. He had tunneled beneath the fabric and was now caught in it near the door Sybil had stormed out of.

“Get back here!” Donal yelled, but the man had freed himself from his white satin prison and practically fell down the stairs at the end of the hall. “He will tell my brother I am free.”

“It will be war,” Sybil whispered. “The wulver’s mate is coming for her. We must find her and let her go. If we can just free her…”

Had she sacrificed herself for nothing? Sibyl wondered, looking back at Donal’s face. The color had drained from it. Was Laina already dead, as the maids had intimated? She couldn’t bear the thought. Tears came to her eyes, spilling down her cheeks.

“You cry for a dog?” The dark-haired maid rolled her eyes.

“Shut up!” Sibyl snapped. “Donal! Where are you going?”

But he was already halfway down the hall, sword in hand, going after the guard.

Sybil quickly followed, shoving by Moira and the maids, but she found herself stuck halfway down the stairs, her train too heavy to move on her own. Donal had the guard by the throat, but it was too late, he had already sounded the alarm. Alistair’s men were gathered at the foot of the stone steps, looking up at Donal holding one of their men at sword point and Sybil standing at the top of them in her wedding gown.

“Please!” She pleaded with them all, hoping she could reason with someone, anyone. “Let the she-wolf go! If you let her go, then the wulvers will not come after you!”

“Let them come!” Alistair’s voice echoed through the great hall as he stalked into it, his men parting as he approached the stairway.

“It will be war!” she cried. The sight of her betrothed made her dizzy with disgust and she clutched the stair’s railing.

“King Henry will not stand for it,” Donal insisted. He still had the guard at sword point. “He doesn’t want war with the wulvers.”

“You’re wrong, brother.” Alistair called up the stairs, smiling that cold smile that never reached his eyes. “King Henry wants his demon seed dead. He wants no challenge to his throne.”

His words carried through the hall. The maids gasped, of course—Sibyl didn’t expect anything less. But everyone seemed to understand his meaning. They all knew the legends, the stories that had been told about the wulvers and the wolf pact. Perhaps some of them had even been alive, Sybil realized, looking back at Moira’s pale face and the way she crossed herself at the mention of the wulvers, when a young man named Henry had come looking for soldiers to help him win a crown. When that same man, who would one day be king, had taken what he wanted from the wulver woman, as men were wont to do, and had abandoned her with child, as men were also wont to do.

The consequences for those actions were far-reaching, and likely riding toward them right now, half-man, half-wolf, fully armed and ready for battle.

“Raife doesn’t want the crown!” Sibyl’s voice shook when she spoke the words. It was true, but would anyone believe it? She didn’t know.

“Raife is it?” Alistair sneered at her. The hatred in his eyes, the hatred that had always been there, just barely veiled, filled her with dread as he came up the stairs, two at a time, passing his brother to get to Sibyl. “And has he taken what’s mine?”

“I am not yours.” She felt her lower lip tremble but she couldn’t stop the truth from spilling out of her mouth. “I will never be yours.”

“Ye’re wrong about that.” Alistair grabbed her to him, crushing his mouth against hers in a painful, bruising kiss. His tongue forced its way past her teeth as he gripped her behind in one hand, her breast in the other, right in front of everyone like he didn’t care who saw. And of course, he didn’t. He wanted them all to see that he owned her. She was surprised he didn’t strip her naked and take her right there on the stairs.

If it weren’t for the presence of the priest down there, ready to perform the marriage ceremony, she knew he really might have.

“King Henry promised me a proper English bride and the rule of all of Middle March if I would kill those flea-ridden dogs,” Alistair growled, spittle spraying her ear. “There is no more wolf pact.”

“No,” she whispered, closing her eyes to it.

It couldn’t be. Was King Henry so afraid of losing his title, his throne, to a bastard son who didn’t want to have anything to do with the crown? No one knew about Raife—and his claim to the throne was tenuous, at best. He wasn’t just Scottish—he wasn’t even fully human! Henry had a son in line for the throne. The Tudors had regained the title after much maneuvering and fighting, but it was theirs. And the wulvers had helped them win it.

“I have a thousand men ready to kill them all as soon as those dogs ride up to the gates!” Alistair announced, his arm still around Sybil’s waist as he grinned down at his men. There were only a hundred or so gathered in the hall, but that didn’t mean a thing. She was certain there were more where that came from—those were just the ones who had heard the commotion and had come running.

“Isn’t that so?” Alistair called out. The men rallied, crying back with a rousing, “Aye!”

They were riding into a trap, just as Sibyl had feared. The wulvers would come down the mountain on horses, armed and ready for battle, transformed as half-man, half-wolf, a few hundred strong. In a battle, they were almost invincible, their healing capacities and super-strength making them fierce warriors, which is what had made them such a force to be reckoned with when Henry recruited them.

But a few hundred wulvers against a thousand men, all set on killing them? It would be an ambush. A slaughter. Sibyl saw Raife falling, saw Alistair—or more likely one of Alistair’s men, because the man himself was too coward to face a wulver—running a sword through her mate’s heart. They might be able to quickly heal from wounds, but they could still be killed. Their hearts could still stop beating.

And if Raife’s heart stopped beating, hers would too.

“Have you ever seen a wulver?” she snarled at Alistair, raising her voice so they could all hear her words. “Have you ever faced a beast who is half-man, half-wolf? They are warriors. I have seen them. They have held me captive for over a month! They do nothing else but train for war. They are far more ready for it than any of your farmers or even your best trained men! I have seen them rip an animal’s throat out with their bare hands!”

“We cannot fight magic.” The men whispered. Sibyl’s heart soared when she heard the mutterings down below. She was sowing the seeds, but she needed more help. “It is witchcraft. It is against nature.”

“She is trying to scare you!” Alistair pushed Sybil away from him and she tumbled, losing her footing, as he went back down the stairs. “They’ll be as easy to put down as dogs, you’ll see!”

“Donal… please…” Sybil cried, thankful the man was still standing there. He caught her fall. “You must do something.”

“My brother is laird of clan MacFalon.” Donal helped her stand, shaking his head sadly. “He is the MacFalon now. That was my father’s doing, not mine. These men do not follow me.”

“But they will!” she insisted, glancing down at the lot of them. More were coming into the hall all the time, having been drawn by the shouting. “The Scots do not have a hierarchy like we do in England. They will follow the strongest leader. Alistair is not that man!”

“You bitch!” Alistair sneered up at her, hand on the hilt of his sword. She didn’t care if he came after her. He could run her through with it—death would be a merciful blessing now—as long as she could save Raife and her wulver family. “You lying, whoring little cunt!”

“You must lead these men to do the right thing!” Sybil spoke only to Donal, seeing a light in his eyes, the same light she’d seen in Darrow’s. It was the passion of the second son, one not born into distinction but who desperately craved it, who went after it like a moth to flame.

“Many of these men are too young to remember the wulver warriors,” Donal said, his voice carrying through the hall. “I was just a child when King Henry came to the MacFalons, asking for our allegiance. But some of these men do remember. Don’t you?”

Sybil glanced down, finding some gray-haired men among the group who pursed their lips and nodded in agreement, much to her relief.

“But some of these men followed my father when King Henry created the wolf pact. Some of these men followed King Henry into battle to fight for his right to wear a crown in a foreign land. Their fathers fought alongside mine, and they fought alongside the wolf warriors for God and country, to secure a peaceful future for their families.”

Sibyl watched Donal’s face change as he talked, as the men, even the younger ones, started really paying attention to his words. Alistair’s face grew red with anger.

“How much bloodshed d’ya wanna see?” Donal cried, throwing his arms wide. “D’ya want yer homes burned, yer women raped? Hav’ya seen what warfare does? My father saw what the border wars did between the Scots and the English. My father, yer laird, told King Henry he wanted to live in peace, and King Henry agreed. Scots, English, wulvers—we all bleed. If we fight—we’ll die.”

The crowd murmured its assent. Many of Alistair’s men were too young to remember that kind of bloodshed, but they grew afraid, not only of what the reality of war might mean, but of taking up arms against an army rumored to be more than human. Sybil smiled triumphantly as she realized Donal had swayed them. Even if Alistair ordered them out to kill the wulvers now—would they do so? She didn’t think they would.

“Do’na listen to him!” Alistair cried. “I have heard from King Henry himself! He—”

A commotion erupted through the crowd. Something was going on outside. Sybil cocked her head, hearing the sound of a horn, some sort of call. She didn’t understand it but she was glad it had distracted everyone from Alistair’s words. The thought that King Henry himself had made some sort of agreement with Alistair to eliminate the wulvers made her blood turn cold.

“What is that noise?” Alistair huffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child at the interruption. He clearly didn’t like his brother getting all the attention. “Stop it at once!”

“It’s the wolf pact, brother. The one you do’na have the honor to honor.” Donal walked slowly down the stairs, coming to stand face-to-face with his older brother. Alistair’s eyes grew wide with fear. “They’re invoking single combat rite.”

“No.” Alistair’s voice barely got above a whisper. She could hardly hear him. “I will’na.”

“According to the wolf pact, ye must,” Donal insisted. “Yer father signed that agreement in blood, and yer honor bound to it!”

“I’m nah!” Alistair stamped his foot, arms still crossed over his chest. “I will’na!”

“Men!” Donal called, eyes bright as he saw them turned toward him, listening, paying close attention. “Take yer laird to face the wulvers.”

Alistair howled like a child, but there were too many of them. They grabbed him and hauled him out of the hall, out the open door. She watched the men do as Donal ordered with great relief, knowing they would follow him. Alistair could talk until he was blue in the face, it didn’t matter anymore. Donal was a man who inspired these men, whose integrity showed in everything he did.

“What is single combat rite?” she wondered aloud.

Donal heard her, turning to glance back as he started following his men.

“It will be leader against leader,” he called back.

“Raife,” Sibyl whispered.

She didn’t think twice. She used the dagger still in her hand to cut away the train of her wedding dress, freeing herself, and ran down the stairs.

Chapter Ten

“Blood rite!” The words were whispered from one person to another in the crowd as they gathered out in front of the MacFalon castle.

Sibyl looked around at all the people and wondered at the number. Why were they all here? Alistair had claimed he had a thousand men at the ready and he was not speaking in jest. But the rest of the people, where had they come from? The villages around the MacFalon land weren’t this densely populated. Could word have spread so quickly?

Sibyl pushed her way through the crowd, searching for the source of the horn that sounded loudly above her head. People stopped and looked at her bare legs in her ruined wedding dress, whispering behind their hands, and suddenly she realized—these were her wedding guests. They had come to see their laird marry an Englishwoman and had ended up attending something akin to a joust. That was all she could imagine as this, “single combat,” or “blood rite” everyone was talking about.

Either way, it would be a good show, Sybil thought grimly, as she made her way to the front of the growing crowd. Alistair had been so sure she would come, that there was going to be a wedding. He had trapped all of them, she realized in horror. He would kill the wulvers, marry his Englishwoman, inherit her lands and titles, and gain the favor of the king. In the end, he would get his way, just as he wanted.

She saw Raife sitting on his horse just across the field. They had come through the woods, just as she had, riding hard. But they were fully armed, their horses geared up for war, the wulvers too. She saw the men she had watched train, men who had teased and funned with her, men she had supped with, men she had watched sleep in a pile at night, half on top of one another, snoring like dogs.

She didn’t want to see any of them harmed, not one of them, and she had the same feeling about Donal as she watched him approach Raife on horseback. Alistair was still howling his objections, his men holding onto him as Donal approached the wulver leader. Raife leaned forward in his saddle, listening to Donal speak, nodding slowly.

Sybil’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces, just seeing Raife alive and well, his bare chest under his plaid wet with perspiration. They had rode hard to get there so quickly, Sybil realized, glancing up at the sun in the sky. It had only been a few hours since she’d arrived at Alistair’s. They were armed as men, and had not yet transformed.

Mayhaps bloodshed and panic could still be avoided, she thought,

“One of our pack’s blood has been spilled! Ye, Alistair MacFalon, are in violation of the wolf pact!” Raife raised his sword high, speaking to the gathered crowd, but he was looking straight at Alistair. “We’re invoking single combat blood rite!”

“There is no wolf pact!” Alistair spat, shaking loose of the men who held him. “We hold to no such thing.”

“Will it be war then?” Raife stared the man down

The crowd murmured its disapproval and Sibyl glanced at many of them, who were dressed in finery for attending a wedding but hadn’t at all planned on being slaughtered in the midst of a battle between man and wulver.

“Ye have to honor the pact!” A cry rose up from the crowd. Sibyl didn’t know from where, but she was grateful when the rest of them began to take up the chant.

“Honor the pact! Honor the pact!”

Alistair reddened, his face twisted in a sneer at the sudden turn of the crowd’s allegiance from their laird.

“I’ll honor it!” Alistair announced loudly, bowing in Raife’s direction with much show. “The wolf pact allows for blood rite if either party feels the pact has been violated.”

He was explaining to the crowd, Sybil realized, her heart hammering in her chest at his words. He had that smile on his face, that cold, calculating smile. What was he up to? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it.

“But as laird, I’ve a right to call for a stand-in!” Alistair raised his voice, looking at his men, his eyes a cloudy, glittering gray. “Which of ye brave men will stand in me place?”

Sibyl held her breath, waiting. Of course Alistair would take this way out—and it looked, to the crowd, as if he were being magnanimous by calling on one of his “brave men” to take his place. Of course their laird couldn’t fight—he was laird. He had a clan to run, after all. Sibyl hated the way he made it look, as if the men who stood by, considering his offer, were the ones who were cowards for staying silent.

“He broke the pact!” someone murmured.

Sybil’s head came up, eyes widening as those phrases peppered the crowd.

“He took the wolf-woman!”

“Fight yer own battles!” This last was spoken so clearly it echoed against the castle’s gray walls.

“Donal?” Alistair turned to his brother, looking up and smiling at him on horseback. “As second son, ’tis your place to stand in for your laird.”

“’Tis true. The pact allows for a stand-in.” Donal reined his horse away from his brother, glancing over his shoulder as he clearly replied, “But all have the right of refusal, brother. Even the second son. And I’m sorry, but I refuse. Do as the man said—fight yer own battles.”

A cheer—an actual cheer—went up from the crowd.

“Ye wanna see a fight?” Alistair called, his face twisted in a scowl as he called for his sword and a man brought it to him. The crowd cheered again. Of course they wanted to see a fight. They’d come for a wedding, but a fight was even better, she judged from the reactions.

Sybil had seen all manner of jousts back home in England but she didn’t understand how this was going to work. Alistair swung his sword through the air, showing off for the crowd. He looked back over his shoulder at Raife, goading the man.

“Ye ready, dog?”

Raife shook his head and a slow smile spread across Alistair’s face.

“Afraid, are ye?” Alistair called loudly—for the benefit of the show, of course. “Get down here and face me like a man.”

“’Tis my brother who’s calling for blood rite.” Raife’s voice rose over the crowd, sure and clear. Just the sound of it made Sybil want to run to him. “It’s Darrow you’ll be facing.”

“Dog-boy, is that what you said?” Alistair swung his sword, stabbing at thin air. “What was your name again? Ruff? Ruff?”

Alistair barked and howled and the crowd laughed.

Sybil had been so focused on Raife, she had missed Darrow in the crowd of wulvers. He reined his horse up next to his brother and Sybil saw the horn he’d blown still in his hand. His eyes were dark, so dark, glittering as he slid off his horse. He handed the horn to his brother and drew his sword as he approached Alistair in the middle of the field.

Sybil thought of Laina. She thought of their little blue-eyed boy back in the mountain, a baby Sybil had seen birthed, had put to his mother’s breast so he could help keep her from bleeding to death. Sweet, gentle Laina, whose mother had been captured by the MacFalons, who had birthed Laina in a cage, and had been killed before she even had a chance to hold her daughter.

Smart, determined Laina, so insistent, so sure she could find a “cure” for their wulver affliction. Where was Laina now? Sybil scanned the crowd, hoping against hope to see her face. Had the maid told her the truth when she said Laina had thrown herself upon a spike? Could it possibly be true? She didn’t want to believe it.

“Come on, dog.” Alistair turned toward Darrow as the big man approached. The crowd gasped at the size difference between the competitors. Darrow towered over the Scot—and Darrow was small compared to his brother, Raife, who sat still in his saddle, watching. Donal had reined his horse in on Sibyl’s side of the field and she moved closer.

“Let’s get this over with!” Alistair said loudly. “I do’na wanna get fleas.”

More laughter from the crowd, but it was nervous laughter. They had seen Darrow now and had judged Alistair’s chances accordingly. So had Sybil. Darrow had bloodlust in his eyes and she couldn’t blame him. If they didn’t stop this, he would be likely to kill Alistair, and then what? Would it simply mean more war?

“Donal,” Sybil called when she was beside the man. He glanced down, frowning at her, reining his horse away. She was standing quite close and put her hand on the horse’s flank. “This blood rite? They fight until blood is drawn then? How does it work?”

Donal shook his head but the answer came from an old man to her right.

“Blood rite is to the death, lass.” The old man gave a single nod, his gaze on the men approaching each other across the field. “A life for a life.”

“Oh no.” She looked up at Alistair’s brother, panicked. “Donal, no!”

“’Tis the pact,” he informed her, his head whirling around at the first sound of steel striking steel rang out. “Let it work, as it should. One of them’ll die today.”

“’T’will be an honorable death,” the old man beside her agreed.

An honorable death? What did that mean, if Darrow was dead? She saw the look in Raife’s brother’s eyes and knew, without Laina, he believed he had nothing to live for. She wanted to run to him, to plead with him to live, for his child’s sake. Don’t orphan your son, Sybil thought, her heart breaking as the men crossed swords again. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t bear to watch.

“Is it over?” she whispered, covering her face. “Please let it be over.”

Steel against steel. The grunt of men hefting heavy swords. The rising cry of the crowd as one or the other man landed a blow. Had it been a death blow?

“Please tell me it’s over,” she whispered, saying a prayer in her head for Darrow. She had no love for Alistair, but it was Darrow she didn’t want to perish in this “blood rite.”

Darrow howled. It was a long, keening howl, a wulver wail, and Sibyl’s head came up, sure she would see the man split in two on the field.

But it was Alistair who was down, Darrow’s foot on the man’s chest, sword at his throat. Darrow’s head was thrown back, his dark hair spilling down his shoulders as he howled, not at the moon, but at the sun.

“Wait!” Alistair waved his arms, gasping for air. “Call it off! I did’na kill’er!”

Sybil could see, even from her vantage point, the abject terror in Alistair’s eyes.

“Yer bitch is alive! She’s—” Alistair croaked, gasping for breath as Darrow took a step back, frowning at the man.

“Show me!” Darrow didn’t take his sword from Alistair’s throat.

“Bring’er!” Alistair choked, his voice strangled. “Fer God’s sake, get the bitch!”

Sybil watched, breath held, as one of the men—Gregor, the same one who had manhandled her, the one who had escaped them on the stairs—led a stumbling woman onto the field. Could it be? Her heart soared in her chest as the Scot shoved the woman forward. Sybil couldn’t see her face—it was obscured by cloth. She had a grain sack pulled over her head, hands bound behind her with rope.

Was this some trick?

“Laina?” Darrow called but didn’t look over his shoulder as they approached from behind. He didn’t take his eyes off the man under his blade.

“Darrow!” Laina responded, voice muffled under the bag. Her voice was full of pain, horror, unspeakable things Sibyl didn’t want to think about, but it was also filled with longing and the sound of hope.

Darrow sheathed his sword, giving one last, low growl in his throat at the man on the ground, before turning to his wife. Gregor pushed Laina forward and she fell into her husband’s arms as he pulled the sack from her head. Her face was filthy, tear-streaked, as she turned her eyes up to him and he embraced her, a look of relief on his face that was palpable. He yanked at her restraints, pulling her free so Laina could put her arms around her husband’s neck.

Sibyl sobbed, her own relief taking flight in her chest as she saw Laina was alive. Alive! She could hardly believe it. She looked across the field and saw Raife watching them. He was a blur to her—they were all a blur through her tears. She wouldn’t have heard anything, expected anything at all, if she hadn’t heard the collective gasp from the crowd.

She saw it a moment too late. Alistair was up, stalking toward the reuniting couple, his sword drawn. Sibyl heard a scream. She thought it might be her own as she sank to her knees in the grass, watching Alistair grab Darrow’s shoulder for leverage and shove his sword straight through. Laina screamed, wiping blood from Darrow’s mouth as it flooded their kiss, the tip of the sword narrowly missing her.

It happened so quickly Sybil thought she was dreaming. She screamed again, but the crowd drowned out the sound as Alistair pulled his blade and lifted it high in the air, aiming to take Darrow’s head clean off his shoulders. Raife was riding toward them, and so was Donal, but it was over before either horse had reached the bloody scene.

Darrow pushed Laina to her knees, turning and unsheathing his sword just in time to catch the steel of Alistair’s sword in mid-air. The swords clashed and tangled for just a moment, and then Darrow pushed forward hard, moving Alistair off-balance, and then he swung. Sybil screamed again—she heard it in her own head—as she watched Alistair’s head topple from his shoulders. Donal’s horse had to sidestep it as it rolled in the grass, Alistair’s dead eyes staring up at a cloudless blue sky.

Darrow went to his knees, his shirt and plaid blooming bright red, and Laina helped lie him down in the grass. Raife was off his horse, kneeling before his brother’s body, and Sibyl ran to them without another thought.

“Is it fatal?” she gasped, hands already moving on Darrow’s belly, searching for the wound. So much blood. So very much blood.

“What do ye care?” Raife looked at her, his blue eyes clouded, dark. His gaze raked her and Sibyl looked down, seeing the ruin of her wedding dress, now soaking up Darrow’s blood.

“Bring him inside,” Donal ordered his men. “And take your laird’s body to the tombs. We will be planning a funeral.”

Laina sobbed over Darrow’s body. She refused to let him go when the men brought a stretcher to carry him inside.

“Where are ye going?” Raife grabbed Sybil’s arm when she went to follow, yanking her back to face him.

“To help!” she cried, trying to shake him loose, but he was too strong. “Raife! Let me go!”

Beside them, the men were putting Alistair’s body on another stretcher. His head was still at their feet, a sight that turned Sybil’s stomach. She avoided looking down, meeting Raife’s eyes. She had never seen that look in them before, so dark, so…

“He’s the man ye want.” Raife glanced down, letting go of her arm long enough to grab Alistair’s head by the hair. She found herself face to face with her betrothed, his face still retaining that same wide-eyed look he’d worn when Darrow lopped off his head. “Here’s yer prize. Take it. It’s yers. Ye earned it.”

The crowd around her gasped as Raife tossed the man’s head at Sybil.

And she caught it.

It was a reflex action from years of playing ball with the boys in the yard, and Sibyl watched, aghast, as the man she loved left her there, standing in the middle of the empty field wearing a bloody wedding dress and holding the head of a man she had once promised to marry. Raife left her. He left her. The pain that seared through her middle was far worse than any sword he could have used to run her through.

Sibyl threw her head back and howled.

* * * *

“He still willna see ye.” Laina shook her head sadly as Sibyl asked, for the hundredth time, if Raife had asked about her. “But he’ll come ’round. He’s just… well. Wulvers are stubborn.”

“Some of us more’n others!” Darrow called from across the room, attempting to sit up.

“Oh no you don’t!” Sybil rushed over, pushing him back into bed, checking his bandage, seeing blood blooming there. “Speaking of stubborn. Stay in bed, will you, please?”

“Even wulvers need ta heal, Darrow.” Laina agreed, climbing into bed with husband and pushing him back onto mattress. “What’m I gonna hafta do to keep you ’ere, hm?”

“Lemme think on that…” Darrow grinned, wrapping an arm around Laina’s waist and pulling her in for a kiss. It was a sight that both delighted Sybil and hurt her heart.

“Keep him in bed,” Sybil warned, taking Darrow’s tray and carrying it toward the door.

“Oh, aye.” Laina giggled as she kissed her husband down onto the mattress.

“No strenuous movements!” Sybil warned, backing out of the door, still carrying the tray.

“Tell me stupid, stubborn brother I wanna see him!” Darrow called.

“Lemme take that, lass.” Moira frowned, stopping Sibyl in the hallway to relieve her of the tray. “You should’na be carrying a tray like a servant.”

“It keeps me busy,” Sybil argued as she handed over the tray. Darrow had eaten stew and half a loaf of bread—his appetite was definitely back.

She was still surprised that Darrow had survived his wound, but somehow Alistair had managed to miss most of his major organs. And the ones he had hit had healed themselves miraculously fast, in true wulver fashion. Alistair, however, had not managed to survive his wounds, and wouldn’t have, even if he’d been a wulver. Sybil had been sure Alistair’s death would start a war between the wulvers and the clan, but so many people had seen the despicable thing their laird had done, word quickly spread.

Donal had been declared laird before Alistair’s body was laid to rest.

“Donal was askin after ye,” Moira told her.

The old woman, who had been kind to her during her time at the MacFalon castle, looked at Sybil with sympathetic eyes. Everyone knew she was in love with Raife—and everyone knew the man refused to speak to her. She had tried, several times, to reason with him, but he simply looked at her with those sad, blue eyes, and walked away. He managed to escape her and whatever she had to say, even if it meant mounting his horse and riding away.

There was nothing more she could do, Sybil had decided. So she tried to keep herself busy. She did her best to help heal Darrow, who couldn’t travel for at least another few days. The other wulvers had returned to the mountain—Raife had sent them home to let the women wulvers know what had happened—but Darrow, Raife and Laina had stayed behind.

Donal welcomed them graciously into his home and offered them all a room and food for as long as they required. He had been very kind, as always, a marked difference from his brother, and the way he conducted himself as laird had been the exact opposite as well. When Sibyl had begun to sob at Alistair’s funeral—she caught Raife’s eye during the proceedings and couldn’t get the image of him throwing Alistair’s head at her—Donal had offered his shoulder.

“Thank you, Moira,” Sybil smiled at the woman, making her way down the hall, heading to the stairs. “Is he in the chancery?”

“Aye, lass.” Moira carried the tray down beside her and they parted ways at the bottom of the stairs, Moira going left toward the kitchen, Sibyl right, toward Donal’s chancery.

The place had been Alistair’s chancery just a short time ago. It was the place she had first met her betrothed, she remembered, as she knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Donal called.

Sibyl opened the door, peeking inside to see him sitting at a wide, oak desk, studying a piece of paper in his hand.

“Lady Blackthorne!” He smiled as she came in, leaving the door open as she approached the desk. “I was just asking Moira to find ye.”

“She found me.” She smiled, sitting down in a chair opposite him, the fabric cool on the backs of her legs. She had borrowed a plaid from one of the kitchen maids, even though Donal had given her back her dowry, which consisted of an entire English wardrobe. She couldn’t go back to wearing velvet and satin, she decided, no matter how much the ladies’ maids Donal had hired to tend her encouraged her to do so.

“I’ve had word.” Donal glanced down at the paper in his hand, squinting at it.

“Goodness, that was fast.” Sybil’s heart thudded hard in her chest. She had asked him to send a letter as soon as humanly possible, and Donal had agreed.

“I sent a wulver messenger.”

“Ah.” Sibyl nodded. So faster than humanly possible, then. “And what word?”

“’Tis good news.” Donal handed the letter over and she saw that it was written in English. “King Henry will continue to honor the wolf pact.”

“And Alistair’s plan?” Sybil glanced over the letter and saw the king’s seal, making it official

“’Twas all his own.” Donal shook his head sadly. “King Henry knew naught of it.”

“I’m sorry, Donal.” She reached out and touched his hand across the desk, squeezing gently. “If I could have saved him too…”

“He brought it on himself, lass.” Donal sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “My brother was always… a problem.”

“At least the wulvers are safe.” She gave her own sigh of relief, sitting back in her chair. “And clan MacFalon is safe.”

“Aye, although King Henry writes that, as new laird of clan MacFalon, I need to find myself an English bride,” Donal said, cocking his head at her. “Or he’ll find one for me.”

“Is that so?” Sybil swallowed, meeting his eyes over the big desk.

“I wondered, lass…” He cleared his throat, his cheeks turning slightly pink, and Sybil knew what he was going to ask. She thought of what she might say to perhaps avert the direction he was headed, but could think of nothing.

Instead, she sat, struck dumb, just staring at him.

“I wondered if ye might consider having me?” Donal got the question out, going on, continuing to talk, as if by talking he might stave off her inevitable rejection. “I know you do’na love me. But that could come, with time. We have everything in place already, I jus’ thought…”

“A marriage of convenience?”

“Aye.” He shrugged helplessly. “It does seem logical and convenient.”

“I wish my heart would listen to logic.” She looked down at her hands, her lower lip trembling as she thought of Raife. It was hard to get him out of her mind, even when she was trying to keep herself busy. “I keep trying to tell it… to stop loving him…”

Her tears overflowed. There was something about this man’s presence that made her feel safe, letting her emotions surface. She looked at him, wondering what life would be like here, if she were to take him up on his offer. What else did she have to do, after all? Raife would not have her, and she had been ruined for anything or anyone else. What did it matter where she lived, how she spent the rest of her days, if she couldn’t be with the man she loved?

“I’m sorry.” Sibyl swallowed, trying to swallow her tears, but they stuck in her throat. She sobbed into her hands, shaking her head, and she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“Och, lass… I’m sorry… I did’na mean…”

“No, it’s not your fault!” She accepted a handkerchief, wiping at her face. “You have been so kind, so generous. I wish I could say yes, but my heart belongs to one man. One… stubborn… awful… horrible… wolf… man…”

She wailed, wishing she could disappear altogether. It was so horribly humiliating, to love someone so much, and have them completely ignore your existence.

“Aye, he’s broken your heart, hasn’t he, lass?” Donal lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Into so many pieces I will never put them together again,” she whispered. “I wish he would just talk to me. Or at least listen…”

He nodded, glancing over her shoulder, then back into her eyes.

“What would ye say to the man?” Donal asked softly.

“That I love him.” She twisted the handkerchief in her hands. “That I only did what I did because I love him. Because I wanted to keep him to be safe.”

“I unnerstand.” Donal gave a long, deep sigh.

“I wish he did.” Sibyl half-stood, ready to go. She wanted to go hide in her room, bury her face in a pillow and sob the rest of the day away. But there were potatoes to peel in the kitchen. And linens to change on the beds. Anything to keep her hands, and her mind, busy.

“Ask him.” Donal nudged her gently.

“I cannot!” She handed him his handkerchief. “He will not give me the time of day.”

“Mayhaps he has a few minutes now?” He glanced over her shoulder again and Sibyl frowned, turning her head in that direction.

The sight of Raife standing in the doorway made her heart drop to her knees. His face was a mask, unreadable, but his eyes were as blue and expressive as ever. He had heard her, that much was clear. But had he listened? Did he care?

“Raife?” she whispered, using the chair to hold herself up, because her knees turned wobbly.

“Ye asked to see me?” Raife turned his gaze to Donal, ignoring Sybil.

“Aye, I did.” Donal waved him in with a sigh. “Come in.”

“I was just leaving.” Sybil lowered her head and moved to sidestep him as Raife came into the room. She had just decided that running up to her room and burying her face in a pillow to sob for the rest of the day was exactly what she was going to do.

“Och!” Donal rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands. “Nay, I was just leaving!”

It happened so fast. One minute, Donal was standing there, the next, he was on the other side of the door, and a key was turning in the lock.

Raife frowned, reaching for the door handle, turning it. But it wouldn’t budge.

“Unless ye plan on breaking down me door, you’ll be workin this out between ye!” Donal called through the thick, solid wood door. “I’m tired of having to comfort that poor girl’s tears on me shoulder.”

Raife scowled at Sybil, as if her tears were her own fault, and Donal’s comfort was too.

“I just have one more thing ta say afore I go,” Donal called, clearing his throat. “Son, if you do’na want her—”

“Go!” Raife snapped at the closed, locked door. “Leave us!”

They both heard Donal chuckle and then there was silence.

“So ye did it for me, eh?” Raife crossed his big arms over that giant, bare chest of his—the MacFalons had all tried to get him to wear a shirt under his plaid, but he refused—scowling at her. “Ye ran back here into yer lover’s arms for my benefit?”

“Yes, you big, dumb oaf!” Sybil snapped. “As a matter of fact, I did! Did it ever occur to you that coming back here and marrying Alistair was something I didn’t actually want to do?”

Raife’s brow knitted, his frown deepening. Sybil had held her tongue long enough. She had chased him all around the grounds trying to get him to listen to her, and now that he was a captive audience—until he broke the door down—she wasn’t going to let the chance pass her by. She had practiced everything she was going to say in her head, in a cool, even tone, and all of that went completely out the window when she was faced with him.

“Did it ever enter your thick skull that maybe, just maybe, I was doing it to keep King Henry and the entire English army from attacking the wulvers?” she cried, her hand itching to reach out and smack him upside his big, dumb head.

“We’re wulvers, Sybil!” he roared right back at her. She didn’t even shrink from his anger—at least he was responding. “We can take care of ourselves!”

“Your brother was run through with a MacFalon sword. He could have died!” She reminded him. “Now multiply that by a hundred. A thousand. How many wulvers would I have had my hands inside, trying to stop the bleeding, if war had broken out?”

Raife shook his head, ready to deny it, to argue with her, but she couldn’t keep any of it at bay anymore. She had let some of it out on Donal’s wide, generous, kind-hearted shoulder, but it wasn’t Donal she was mad it, and it wasn’t Donal she had been so afraid she was going to lose. It was Raife. It was her big, giant, stubborn, bull-headed, sweet, kind, protective, loveable man of a wolf she had been so scared she was going to lose. It was this man who she had been willing to sacrifice everything for, who she would rather have known was living safely up in the mountain, while she suffered at Alistair’s sadistic hands, than lying dead somewhere on MacFalon land.

“What if… what if it had been you…” she whispered, eyes brimming with tears. She saw a look of concern pass over his face, the way he reached for her but stopped himself. “What if it had been your severed head… in my lap…?”

She couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t stop picturing it in her mind. She sobbed into her hands, turning away from him, and then heard him say something she couldn’t quite believe.

“Would ye have cared if it had been?”

Sybil lifted her head, gaping at him.

“Oh you bastard!” she whispered, a sudden wave of anger overtaking her. She launched herself at him, pounding her fists against his chest. “How can you say that? How can you even ask that question?”

Raife caught her wrists, half-smiling, an expression she hadn’t seen on his face since they’d been there. It made her want to smack him.

“Ye never told me, lass,” he said softly, meeting her clouded gaze.

“What?”

“Ye never said the words,” he said again. “How was I supposed to know?”

“Are you mad?” she murmured. “Am I… dreaming?”

“Do ye or don’t ye?” He pushed his chin out, defiant, glaring down at her.

Sibyl looked at her wrists, encircled by his big, giant paws, and then up at his face.

“You want me to say the words?” She shook her head, incredulous. “Because giving myself to you, that wasn’t enough? Because risking my life to save your thick hide wasn’t enough? You need me to say the words?”

He shrugged. “’T’would be nice.”

“Raife…” She burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. “My God, you idiotic, ridiculous man. I love you! Is that what you wanted to hear? Tha mi gu dòigheal!”

His eyes searched her face for the truth. She prayed he found it.

“Do you understand that?” she asked softly. “In your own language? Tha mi gu dòigheal.”

“Are ye done insulting me now?” he asked, letting her wrists go.

“No!” She hit him again, this time square in the chest with both fists. “You lumbering lout!”

He caught both wrists again and pulled her close, trapping her arms between them. Then he kissed her. Everything they hadn’t said to each other went into that kiss, everything they both wanted, everything they hoped for, all their desperate fears, all their dreams of a future together. Sybil tasted salt on their lips.

“I love you,” she whispered when they parted. He kissed the tears from her cheeks. “Tha mi gu dòigheal, you boorish fool.”

“And I love ye,” he said hoarsely. “Ye strange, irrational woman.”

She rolled her eyes at him and he kissed her again, this time capturing her mouth in a desperate slant, as if he could put every moment they had missed into it.

“And if ye ever…” His mouth dipped to her neck, nipping and biting her there, making her cry out. “Do anythin’…” His tongue moved down to her collarbone, making her moan as his hands moved under her plaid, seeking the heat of her skin. “So idiotic again…”

“You’ll what?” she challenged, sliding a thigh between his, feeling the steel heat of him, satisfied when she heard him groan.

“Wulvers mate for life, lass, I told ye,” he breathed against the tops of her breasts. “I guess I’ll have to kill us both.”

“Oh but what a way to go,” she whispered as her man, her mate, her wulver, cleared Donal’s desk with one fell swoop, knocking everything to floor so he could sit her up on it.

Sybil wrapped her arms and legs around him, hungry, desperate for him, unable to quench the fire he’d started burning inside her without him.

“Ye will’na leave me again, lass.” Raife said the words as he entered her, making her cry out and cling to him. “Never again.”

“I promise,” she whispered into his neck, trembling at the thought of losing him again. “I am yours.”

“Say it again,” he growled, thrusting deep.

“I’m yours!” she cried, biting her lip.

“Again!”

“Yours!”

“Mine!” he groaned, driving in deep, filling her completely. “Mine!”

Sybil wouldn’t let him go. Even when they came and knocked on the door, asking if everything was all right—someone had obviously heard all the clatter—she refused to let him go. She wasn’t going to ever let him go again.

Her father used to tell everyone that Sibyl Blackthorne wasn’t afraid of anything, and that had been true. But she had been stupid, and reckless, in her fearlessness.

That was back when she didn’t have anything to lose.

Now she knew what it was to love a man—a wulver—and how it felt to lose him.

She wasn’t fearless anymore.

But she was wonderfully, desperately, humanly in love.

And Sybil would take that over being brave, any day of the week, any month of the year, for the rest of her life—and his.

The End

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ABOUT SELENA KITT

Selena Kitt is a NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling and award-winning author of erotic and romance fiction. She is one of the highest selling erotic writers in the business with over a million books sold!

Her writing embodies everything from the spicy to the scandalous, but watch out-this kitty also has sharp claws and her stories often include intriguing edges and twists that take readers to new, thought-provoking depths.

When she's not pawing away at her keyboard, Selena runs an innovative publishing company (excessica.com) and in her spare time, she devotes herself to her family--a husband and four children--and her growing organic garden. She does belly dancing and photography, and she loves four poster beds, tattoos, voyeurism, blindfolds, velvet, baby oil, the smell of leather, and playing kitty cat.

Her books EcoErotica (2009), The Real Mother Goose (2010) and Heidi and the Kaiser (2011) were all Epic Award Finalists. Her only gay male romance, Second Chance, won the Epic Award in Erotica in 2011. Her story, Connections, was one of the runners-up for the 2006 Rauxa Prize, given annually to an erotic short story of "exceptional literary quality," out of over 1,000 nominees, where awards are judged by a select jury and all entries are read "blind" (without author's name available.)

She can be reached on her website at www.selenakitt.com

Kiss the Dragon

(Maidens Book 1)

Michelle Fox

Copyright 2014. All Rights Reserved.

Would you trust a curse to save you?

Ever since Sara Clarke was hit by lightning and began to see the future, she’s lived a life on the run. Always hiding. Always hunted. She dreams of a different fate, but knows her only constant is the danger that stalks her. A lot of people want to harness what Sara can do and they don’t aren’t above forcing her to do their bidding.

Dragon Alec MacTeine has been locked in his human form by a centuries old curse. If he doesn’t find his maiden, he’ll never stretch his wings again. A chance encounter, one fleeting kiss and he knows that Sara is his. Meeting his maiden is supposed to solve all his problems, but instead, it spawns new ones.

Sara is the key to Alec’s freedom, but first he has to convince her that he can set her free too, both from the people that want to own her and from the voice that uses her as a conduit to the future.

Author’s Note

While I have travelled to Scotland (clan MacCleod represent!) and have been to many of the places as well as seen many of the things mentioned in this book, this story is NOT meant to be an accurate portrayal of Scotland or its history. I’ve done my best to imbue the story with authenticity, but all errors are my own and some may even be intentional to serve the story. Think of this as more of an alternate history paranormal romance.

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Be sure to subscribe to my mailing list for free reads, exclusive sneak peeks and giveaways. Get a free story just for signing up! You’ll also have the chance to scoop up new releases for 99 cents and enter fantastic giveaways. Past prizes include gift cards, a Kindle Fire HD and an autographed picture of Joe Manganiello (the actor who plays Alcide on True Blood).

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction intended for adults age 18 and over. Minors should stop here and close the book. All events depicted are fictional. All sex is between consenting adults. Any resemblance to places and persons, living or dead, is unintentional coincidence.

Every effort has been made to provide a quality reading experience, but editors and technology are fallible. Please report typos or formatting issues to mailto:MichelleFoxwrites@gmail.com.

Chapter One

Someone was out there.

Their malevolent energy hung in the air, pressing on my shoulders. It raced over my skin, pulling at my hair and zapping me with an electric tingle that made my scars ache.

I continued to lather icing on the latest batch of red velvet cupcakes and tried not to be scared. Fear wouldn’t protect me. It was just a waste of energy. I’d been telling myself that for the last ten years, but still couldn’t seem to believe it. I’d seen the things that chased me up close and personal. I couldn’t not be afraid, but I tried.

“Come on, Sara, don’t let it get to you,” I coached myself. My mom had named me Sara after a great aunt who’d been a rabble rouser in the family. She’d stood tall and wide and never took shit from anyone. Mom told me, “I named you after the strongest woman I know.” Too bad it hadn’t imparted any actual strength.

And now someone bigger and badder than even my namesake lurked outside my little cupcake shop, the one I’d just opened on the main street of Inverness, Scotland, threatening to ruin it all. I’d dreamed of running a bakery since I was five. The shop was small, but it was perfect for me.

I’d painted the walls in light pastels and put up art nouveau prints. Wrought iron tables and chairs sat back against the wall, leaving just enough space for customers to stand and peruse the offerings in the display case.

This was supposed to be my gig for at least the next year. That’s how long it usually took them to find me.

Who were they?

It varied. Sometimes they were humans. Or they were…others, beings who were not quite human. I still wasn’t clear on how many things existed beyond my own native human species. Although, judging from the variety I’d seen, there were a lot of them. Some had wings, others had squashed faces with beady eyes. Definitely not human, but I couldn’t say what they were other than the stuff of nightmares and fairytales. There’d only been one repeat so far; a particularly nasty coven of witches.

The coven almost grabbed me in Rome, but I dodged them by jumping into a stranger’s car. The driver found me cute enough that, when I urged him to speed away, suddenly speaking fluent Italian, he complied. Getting away from him had been quite the feat. He became very attached in the afternoon we spent together.

Now someone had found me again. And I’d just paid the one year lease in full. Dammit. I’d been counting on everything I’d learned about hiding to see me through. Apparently, that was too much to expect. I sighed and abandoned the cupcakes to close out the cash register. I stuffed money into my pockets, wondering who was ruining my life this time.

Humans didn’t bother me so much. Yes, they had henchmen carrying guns, but they were also predictable. I didn’t need my skills to stay one step ahead. They always offered me money before trying to outright kidnap me. So I pretended to be interested, asked for a day to think their proposal over and split the first chance I got. They fell for it every time.

Speaking of running, I checked to make sure my backpack was where I’d hung it on the hook by the rear entrance. I kept my life in that bag. It held everything I needed to run, to start over, or to hide; fake passports, Visa gift cards that couldn’t be tracked, a change of clothes, cash in various currencies and guidebooks for Europe as well as Asia. Those two continents were the focus of my efforts to hide. I didn’t dare go back home to Ohio, my friends would talk and give me away to the people trying to hunt me down. Better to stick to places where no one had ever heard of me, let alone knew my face.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stepped outside. I left the lights on in the bakery and didn’t bother to flip the sign over to ‘closed.’ No sense in tipping them off. I hoped whoever ventured in to buy a cupcake would be brave enough to just help themselves.

The late summer weather greeted me with a gloomy roll of thunder. I squinted at the sky as I walked. It looked like rain. Great.

No, countered that small, certain, always right, never wrong voice in my gut. I hated that voice so much. Once, I’d stabbed my stomach with a knife trying to cut it out. That was before I really understood what had happened to me. Before I’d comprehended what I’d become and the awful mistakes I’d made.

Negative energy pressed on me, threatening to flatten me into the uneven cobblestone sidewalk. They were really close. I needed to hurry and disappear before they laid eyes on me. Rummaging in my backpack as I walked, I pulled out a scarf and sunglasses. Wrapping the scarf around my head, I then perched the sunglasses on my nose. There. Try to match a photo to that, bad guys.

I would miss Inverness. The remote town hadn’t sounded particularly attractive to me initially, but the voice had urged me on.

Safe, it had whispered in my ear.

Such a bullshit artist, that voice. Always holding out hope, only to wrench it away with a twist on a word’s meaning. In the early days, when I had no idea what was going on, the voice told me my house was safe, but then my parents were killed in the living room. Shot by one of the many contingents who thought I would be useful to have.

Not employ.

Not consult.

Have as in own.

Whoever had been giving orders didn’t want anyone left behind to ask questions. The only reason I survived was because the voice forced me to leave the house.

I’d since figured out that ‘safe’ could mean an hour or five minutes, and it didn’t extend to other people, just me. If I was smart, I could make a hiding spot last for quite a while. The last few years, I’d learned a lot about staying off the radar, which is why I’d opened the cupcake shop in the first place. I thought I could pull off a year, but I’d been wrong. That wasn’t going to happen.

It was too bad because once I had arrived in Inverness, I found the town suited me. The weather often matched my mood; gray clouds trying to snuff the sun. The tourists kept Inverness’ remoteness from slipping into provincial small-mindedness. Cosmopolitan shops lined the streets interwoven with a nice selection of restaurants. The city had a quiet vitality that I’d come to enjoy.

So where to, I thought at the voice.

Here, came the answer. Stay.

I rolled my eyes. It was going to be one of those days when the voice fucked with me. I paused at the street corner, checking for traffic before I crossed. Not seeing a car, I stepped off the curb, but then jumped back when a roaring sound ripped through the air.

A motorcycle. One with a dragon breathing fire painted on the fuel tank.

I clung to a street lamp as it zipped past. I hadn’t seen or heard it coming. Probably focusing too much on the voice braying in my gut until it echoes in my head, I thought sourly as I watched the bike whip to the left and then soar into a parking spot at such a high speed an accident appeared to be imminent. But the rider didn’t crash, not even close. The bike slid home and stopped inches shy of jumping the curb, under the biker’s complete control.

He—I knew it was a him just by the width of his shoulders--took off his helmet and shook out long, coppery hair. I gaped because that was some seriously awesome hair. Especially on a guy.

I couldn’t see eye color from my vantage point, but I could tell he had a handsome face from the square jaw and high, sculpted cheekbones. When he stepped off the bike, I caught the way his shoulders made the top of a V that nipped in at his waist. Black jeans covered a well-shaped rear that led to boots and I noted the leather jacket he wore bore a black-on-black dragon insignia.

He watched me from across the street as if aware of my gaze. I flushed and turned away, scolding myself for being so easily distracted. I needed to get moving. The energy had even more weight now. They were closer than before and I’d been gawking like a lovesick teenager.

It was almost like I had a death wish.

Or maybe I was just tired of running. Maybe I’d needed a moment to be a girl who had the leisure to stop and stare at an attractive guy. I never got to do normal things anymore. The cupcake shop had been my attempt to try and look how that was turning out.

I let go of the lamp post and started to cross the street, but found myself abruptly pushed back. Sometimes, the voice had unseen hands that played me like a puppet. At that moment, it had decided to shove me onto the sidewalk and spin me around until the man on the motorcycle was visible again.

He hadn’t moved from when I’d last seen him. He was staring at me, concentrating.

Was he a bad guy? One of them?

No, said the voice, sounding impatient.

Tires squealed behind me, car doors opened and deep voices shouted. I was able to peek over my shoulder to see a line of black SUVs and a lot of men, also in black, running toward me. Magic tinged the air marking my predators as not human.

Shit. I was out of time. Had the voice finally screwed up?

Him, the voice shouted.

I looked at the guy on the motorcycle, the voice pushing me in his direction. Him? I asked, wishing I could resist the force that dragged my legs the way the voice wanted them to go.

Him, came the emphatic response.

Of my own volition, I broke into a run, sensing the swarm of dark shadows at my back drawing closer. The biker watched me approach, his eyes narrowing as he tracked my progress. They were hazel, I noted, and as I drew closer, I could make out light gold flecks that reflected light like a mirror.

“Hi,” I gasped out, raising my hand in a friendly wave. “I’m Sara. Give me a ride?”

He didn’t move and I began to panic. The voice usually arranged things for me. People found they liked me, that they wanted to help me. It was creepy as hell, but since it manifested only when my life was in danger, I lived with it.

I hesitated and glanced back over my shoulder. The guys in black were still coming, although slower now. They were unsure of the motorcycle guy and being cautious. Turning back to him, I attempted a charming smile. “So, how about that ride? I could use a little help here.”

His gaze flickered behind me. “I can see that, lass. I can also feel your power,” he said, his voice a pleasant tenor with a lilting Scottish brogue.  His gaze settled back on me, probing. “What are you?”

“Nothing.” I held up my hands, wondering if I was going to have to run away from both him and the bad guys.

“You will not compel me,” he growled, jaw tight.

“It’s not me, I swear.” I put my hand over my heart.

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I…ah…well, it’s complicated.” We so did not have time for this. Shit. “I have like a parasite or something. Or an infestation. I swear I’m not trying to do anything to you, but,” I gestured to my gut, “this thing has a mind of its own and I really am in trouble.”  I gave him a pleading look, the one that always convinced my father to agree to ice cream after Mom had already said no. Dad had never been able to resist me, but the rest of the world had yet to fall to its knees. I still tried though. A cute pout was all I had going for me at the moment.

Kiss, demanded the voice.

What? WHAT?

The voice shoved me forward, almost launching me airborne. KISS, it roared until I couldn’t hear any other sound.

My lips crashed into my would-be savior’s. He stood stiff and still for a second, but then his arms wrapped around me and returned my kiss. His mouth was hot and insistent as he seized control of mine. I sank into him, a heady rush swirling through me as his tongue swept my mouth. The world dropped away. The guys coming for me didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did except for this man who cradled me in his arms.

I moaned as he nibbled the fullness of my bottom lip. A frisson of heat burned through me until I wanted to rip off my clothes and let this man have all of me. It was one hell of a lip lock. I would never forget it and all the kisses that came after would forever be measured against this one.

After a long, blissful moment, the man pulled away, leaving me cold and wishing for more. He stared at me, his eyes wide and the hazel darkening from light caramel to a hard crack toffee.

“I-I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, the rich burr of his Scottish accent sending a tingle up my spine. “That kiss is what saved you.” He handed me his helmet and I quickly put it on.

Motioning for me to join him on the bike, he said, “Hold on tight. It’s going to be a bumpy ride, lass.”

I vaulted up onto the leather seat, feeling very much like I was attempting to leapfrog over a giant. Once I was settled, I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into his back. He felt so solid, so capable and with that yummy kiss still bubbling in my system, I didn’t want to ever let go. Worse, I wanted to kiss him again…among other things.

Oh, this was bad.

Loving me could kill a man.

Chapter Two

We zoomed through the verdant back country of Scotland, a line of black SUVs right behind us. The motorcycle shuddered between my legs, jostling me forward and closer into the stranger who’d said a mere kiss had saved me.

What had he meant by that anyway? I sent a tendril of attention to the voice, poking at it, but it wasn’t talking. My imagination drew a blank, too. I had no magic other than the voice, nothing that would give a kiss any special meaning.

So why had it been a game changer for him? It’s not like the few other guys I’d kissed had ever reacted the way the biker had.

I went airborne for a second as we left the road and crossed an open pasture to dodge the SUVs. The land jolted us with its dips and valleys, bucking under the bike like an angry bull. That didn’t deter the people after me, though. If anything, they drove even more aggressively, fanning out and attempting to box us in.  We zipped up a little hill that acted as a ramp and I felt air under me again. I clamped my eyes shut and searched for the energy that would tell me if we were about to crash or not.

No, it was going to be fine.

I still couldn’t look, though.

When I did open my eyes, we were alone. The SUVs were gone as if they’d never existed. Mist now rolled over the moors, shrouding the countryside in white. The atmosphere of the world changed. I no longer sensed the intense pressure of pursuit, but rather the languid energy of time to spare. The biker relaxed as well, slowing down and leaving the field for a narrow road.

We were safe. At least for the time being.

A few minutes later, we pulled up to a large castle built of dark stone. A collection of motorcycles sat outside its entrance; big machines with shiny chrome and ornate dragon motifs in the paint jobs.

He parked right next to the rest of the bikes and I removed the helmet, which he took and hung over the handlebar. I accepted the hand he offered as I struggled to dismount from the bike. I wasn’t all that short, but the motorcycle was a beast and I was grateful for the help.

“Where are we?” I asked. “Who are you?” He’d sensed the voice, recognized it somehow. I needed to figure out how much of a threat he was.

“This is my home and my name is Alec.” He swept a hand toward the castle door. “We should go in. They’ll want to meet you and we need to talk.”

“They who?” I asked hurrying after him.

“My brothers,” he said over his shoulder.

Alec walked with powerful strides into the castle. The front door swung open at his approach as if expecting him. I stuck as close as a second shadow, nervous and a little scared. If this man knew what I was, he would want to use me and I would have to escape.

I much preferred never being caught in the first place, so it was with some hesitation that I crossed the threshold of the castle. The door shut behind me with a loud boom, operated by a tall blond man with the bulk of a linebacker. He had stood so far behind the door that he was effectively hidden from sight and his sudden appearance gave me a start. His mouth widened at my reaction and then opened, not in a grin, but so he could snap his teeth at me with a predatory, sharp click.

I jumped and stepped even closer to Alec, bumping into him as he came to an abrupt stop.

“Brothers,” he bellowed, head thrown back, voice echoing off the square wooden panels covering the walls.

The thud of feet hurrying across the floor sounded. One set from above us, another from somewhere on the first floor. The blond from the door walked over to lean against the enormous fireplace at the end of the room. He looked me up and down, eyebrows raised, lips pursed.

“You found one?”

Alec gave a curt nod as he pulled off his leather riding gloves. “Aye, I did.”

The blond smiled, this time the gesture displayed pure delight as opposed to his earlier aggression. “Excellent.”

I edged back toward the door just as two more men appeared, their gazes instantly seeking me out and pinning me down. What did they know about me? How much danger was I in? Could I outrun them?

I closed my eyes and absorbed the energy around me. Nothing registered as dark or dangerous. Weird because these guys looked like a rough crowd with their bikes and leathers. Based on their appearance, I should have run screaming. The voice should have been shoving my feet out the door.

There were four of them so far: The teeth-snapping blond, then Alec with his coppery hair, a flaming orange redhead, and one with hair dark as night. They all wore matching black kilts and leather jackets with the same dragon design as Alec’s.

Call me crazy, but I didn’t think they were going to serve me tea and crumpets. They were more the type to ask me to make meth or cut cocaine. Oh wait, scratch that. Alec had known I was something more than human, which meant I was probably destined for torture until I did what they wanted. These guys weren’t going to be petty criminals. They would be big time.

And yet, I didn’t sense that about them at all. What my eyes saw and what the voice registered were two different things. I couldn’t reconcile it.

What’s going on? I poked at the voice that now controlled my life.

Wait.

You know, it’s possible to use more than one word and actually tell me something useful, I thought huffily. Wait for what?

The men were talking now, their voices loud and full of excitement.

“I told you it would work, brother,” crowed the dark-haired biker, clapping Alec’s shoulder.

“Aye, but I think I’ve found more than my maiden.” Alec fixed his hazel gaze on me, eyes narrowed as he tried to take my measure. “She’s in trouble.”

“I can leave,” I said. “In fact, it’s better if I just go.” I took a step toward the door, but Alec was already there, blocking me. I blinked up at him. “You’re really fast. What are you?”

“You first,” he said. “After all, I saved your arse back there. There’s magic about you. What is it?”

“I-I don’t know,” I said, panic making my heart drum in my ears. Telling my secret was what made me the most wanted on everyone’s list. The truth had destroyed my life and I’d learned to shut up out of self-preservation.

“You can’t hide from us, lass. We can sense your power.” The weight of his gaze pressed against me, heavy and palpable and telling me Alec was not a man easily swayed from his course.  When I didn’t answer, he loomed over me and roared, “Tell me what danger I’ve brought to my home, lass. Tell me so I can protect us all.”

“Alec,” said one of the men from behind me. “Perhaps we should explain our side to her first. She needs to know we can be trusted.”

“If she’s in trouble as you say, brother, she must be scared out of her mind to have you charging at her like a wild boar,” said someone else.

“Let’s sit in the kitchen, shall we?” suggested a third voice. “Gavin and I just made cookies.”

I half turned around. The bad ass bikers baked? No way.

Alec grunted. “Och, Niall, no biscuits again?” He sounded aggrieved.

The man with the fiery orange hair, who I took to be Niall, grimaced. “Donna be giving me trouble, mate. Not unless you want to be the one doing the cooking.” He smiled at me, the gesture warming his brown eyes. “Donna be afraid of us, lass. We roar a lot, but we donna bite.”

“I do,” said the blond, snapping his teeth at me again.

I frowned at him. “If you bite me, I’m going to smack you.”

Alec cut in front of me, glaring darkly at the blond.  “Touch her, Gavin, and I’ll kill you.”

Gavin appeared unimpressed. “Och, she really must be your maiden if you’re willing to turn on blood.”

Alec’s gaze flickered back to me and his body stiffened as if surprised by Gavin’s observation.

“What’s this about a maiden?” I asked.

“Well,” said Niall, running a hand through his orange hair. “That’s a long story. To tell it proper we’ll need a snack. Come with me.” He walked purposefully out of the room, the hem of his black kilt rippling as he moved.

Not knowing what else to do, I followed after him, the rest of the biker gang falling in line behind me. A narrow hallway with a low ceiling wound its way through the castle. The men had to duck, but my height matched that of whoever had built the castle way back when and I passed through unhindered.

When I lost track of Niall, who walked so fast he left the rest of us behind, and went to turn down a new hallway on the right, Alec caught me by the elbow and pulled me back. “Straight, lass. That’s the way to the turret stairs.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, feeling clumsy. I stepped back and motioned him forward. “Why don’t you lead?”

“Aye, mate. You lead and then I can stare at her arse. You’ve been blocking my view.” This was Gavin, the blond, his pale blue eyes alight with mirth.

Alec whirled around, face contorted into fury. He raised his hand and my jaw dropped when a fireball blinked into existence.

“What the hell…” I started, but no one was paying attention to me. The men were too intent on their imminent firefight to hear anything I said. I could practically see the steam shooting from their ears.

Launching the fireball toward Gavin with a heave of his powerful shoulder, Alec roared, “You will leave her alone or I will make you pay for that smart mouth of yours.”

I flinched as the fireball flew toward Gavin, growing bigger as it went, but the blond stood his ground, not even attempting to evade the thing. The fireball sizzled as it hit his chest and then disappeared as if he’d absorbed it into his body.

“Come now, mate,” Gavin said, raising his hands. “Don’t be so tetchy.”

Behind him, the dark-haired one, whose name I still didn’t know, sighed and brushed past Gavin. “I’ll walk in front of him if that will help.” When Gavin started to protest, he scowled. “Shut it, brother. I’m hungry and we have important business to mind. Stop causing drama.”

Gavin frowned. “Drama? I’m not causing drama. He’s the one who’s got his bollocks in a twist.” He snickered and shot an impudent wink my way. “You’re going to have to help him with that.”

Now I wished I had some fire to throw at him myself. Instead, I laid a hand on Alec’s shoulder, surprised at the anger vibrating under his skin. “Can we just put the fireballs away and go to the kitchen? Please?” I wanted to ask him the how and why he could lob fireballs at people, but it seemed more important to calm everyone down before we all went up in smoke.

Alec swallowed hard and nodded, his jaw clenched tight. Turning on his heel, he marched off. I ran after him, wanting to leave the troublesome Gavin behind.

The kitchen was a cheerful room with a wooden beamed ceiling, a wide hearth and shelving instead of cupboards. Where the main room had square wood panels, the kitchen walls were made up of natural gray stone. An assortment of kitchenware filled the shelves. I counted at least three different china patterns, and there was a selection of copper and steel pots ranging in size from smaller than a teacup to big enough to bathe children. In one corner, an old refrigerator hummed and wheezed as if on its last leg. The far end of the room had a large window under which stood a wooden table flanked by benches on all four sides.

The orange-haired biker, Niall, was already there, arranging a plate of cookies. He waved me over to the table. “Just have a seat, anywhere will do. Cookies and tea coming right up.”

I settled onto a bench, startled when Alec sat right next to me. The other men each took  one of the other benches and we all waited quietly for the food to be ready. Even Gavin, who looked like he might want to say something once or twice, but quickly shut his mouth when Alec glared at him. Taking their lead, I bit my tongue too, acting like nothing weird was going on.

“Come on, Niall,” Alec said. “It doesna matter how the cookies look on the plate, mate.”

“Coming,” he said, hurrying over with the plate of cookies and another plate of what turned out to be finger sandwiches. Apparently, bikers in Scotland observed high tea.

Niall passed out plates with an elegant pink floral pattern and teacups with purple thistles running around the edge. The china’s delicacy made me blink as it clashed against the contrast of their leather jackets and tough-guy machismo. Who dressed like these guys did and then served food on platters fit for the queen? No one I knew.

After the plates came the food followed by a tea pot and a decanter of some kind of alcohol. Given our location and its amber color when poured, I surmised it must be Scotch. The men all added a healthy dose of the booze to their tea. Alec held the decanter over my dainty teacup, but I covered it with my hand and shook my head.

“No thanks. I don’t drink.”

Alec raised an eyebrow as if he’d never heard of such a thing.

“I’m a terrible drunk,” I said and then I stuffed a cookie in my mouth to stop myself from saying anything more. No one needed to know what the voice was like under the influence of alcohol. That little piece of information could be used against me.

The cookie had a bright lemon flavor with a sugar crust that gave it texture and sweetness. I made an appreciative ‘mmm’ sound which caused Niall’s face to light up with pleasure. “Glad you like it. It’s an American recipe.”

I washed the cookie down with some tea, enjoying the way its bitterness served as a foil for the sweetness of the cookie. Niall had balanced flavors nicely. “They’re really good. I’d love the recipe.”

“You would? Do you cook?” He sounded absolutely delighted.

“I run a cupcake shop in Inverness. Right on the main drag,” I said, leaving out the part where I’d abandoned ship.

“Oh excellent.” Niall beamed at me. “Since you’re a professional, I’ll tell you the secret is to dip the cookie dough in water first and then the sugar. That’s what makes the crust.” He topped off our tea, pouring from a dented copper kettle. All the men quickly added more booze while I went for one of the sandwiches.

Catching me peeking between the bread to see what it was, Niall said, “It’s chicken salad with watercress and cucumber.”

“Sounds very English,” I said.

The men went still and all four of them gave me a look.

I straightened in my seat. “Was that a bad thing to say?”

“We’re not bloody redcoats,” said the dark-haired one with a frown. His intense blue eyes flashed with what I took to be irritation.

“Oh, my bad. Sorry guys, I’m from the other side of the pond,” I said with a shrug. The intricacies of the English-Scottish rivalry were not my strong suit. I took another sandwich and snagged one more cookie. If I didn’t, they would all be gone. These biker dudes ate fast. “So, who are you guys? What’s with the fireballs?” I gave Alec the side eye and he shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m Malcolm,” said the guy with the dark hair. “These are my brothers, Niall, Gavin and Alec.” He pointed to each of the men in turn.

Niall gave an amicable wave, which I returned. Gavin snapped his teeth again, which made Alec tense up beside me. I put my hand on his arm again. “Don’t worry, I’ve got his name and his number. Gavin, class A asshole.”  I smiled sweetly at the blond. “Or would you prefer the term jackass?”

His face darkened with anger for a moment, but then cleared as he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m a good arsehole to have in a fight.”

“Well, maybe you should save it for the fighting then,” Alec growled, reaching for a cookie. Gavin got to the plate first, swiping the three remaining cookies and stuffing them into his mouth.

“God save ye, Gav.” Malcolm swatted the back of Gavin’s head. “Stop it. I mean it, or you’ll be looking for someplace else to rest your head, brotherhood or no.”

“What? I’m hungry.” Gavin’s eyes went wide with feigned innocence as he reached for the sandwiches, but Niall swiftly pulled the plate away.

“Brotherhood?” I asked over Gavin’s whining, finding the word odd.

The table went quiet at my question. Finally Alex sighed. “You ken there’s magic in the world, right?”

At my nod, Malcolm said, “We’re dragons.”

“All of you?” I looked at each of them in turn, squinting to see if I could spot scales or something dragon-y. All I saw, though, were four handsome men. If Alec hadn’t been throwing fire earlier, I would have doubted the truth of Malcolm’s words.

“Aye,” Alec said.

“And every dragon must find his maiden afore his fire burns him up inside,” Niall added.

“So Alec and I, you think we’re…” I trailed off, pointing from the big man to me and back again, unable to finish the sentence.

Malcolm nodded. “You’re his maiden.”

“What does that mean exactly?” I looked from Malcolm to Alex trying to make sense of what they were telling me.

“We’re destined to be together,” Alec said.

“What does that mean?” I asked again.

“In the old days, you would have been married the day you met,” Gavin said with a smirk. He reminded me of a cat that liked to toy with its prey. I wished I had a spray bottle I could shoot him with. That had always worked when my cat got out of line.

“I can’t get married,” I said, horrified. Suddenly, I wished I had some of that Scotch in my tea. I could have used the liquid courage. I looked at Alec who didn’t seem any more thrilled than I was.

“Don’t you feel it, lass?” asked Niall looking confused.

“Feel what?”

Alec cut me off. “Aye, she does.”

“How do you know what I feel?” I glared at the man.

“Because I feel it, too.” He turned his head, hazel gaze meeting mine square on. “What do you think that kiss was about?”

“I-I don’t know,” I said. The voice had pushed me into that kiss, literally shoving me into Alec like I was a dog in heat. My stomach sank as the truth hit me.

You set me up, I thought at it, furious. You knew this would happen. My hands curled into fists and I resisted the intense urge to pound myself in the stomach. The voice couldn’t be punished or hurt or touched, but I could. I’d learned that the hard way.

“We’ve been waiting on you for a long time,” said Malcolm.

“Me?”

“Not you specifically. Someone like you. A maiden. A true mate,” added Niall. “You’re just the first one to show up.”

“How many are you expecting?”

“One for each of us. That’s how I set the spell.” Malcolm added more scotch to his tea as he spoke.

My eyes widened. “You called me here?”

He nodded. “You seem to be more than a maiden, though lass. Why don’t you tell us what you are and why you’re in trouble?”

“Mayhap we can help,” Niall added.

I dodged Malcolm’s question by draining my teacup. I barely knew these men. There was no way I could tell them what I was. No way that wouldn’t lead to more problems for me. Worse, they were meddling in my life with their spells.

Tell, said the voice.

Are you crazy? Not happening, I seethed at the voice. Outwardly, I smiled as Niall jumped to refill my cup while the other men sat patiently waiting for my response.

The voice kept pushing. Tell. Tell. Tell.

I shoved back.  No way in hell.

Power surged through me, spreading from my gut until it covered all of me. The voice was taking over, forcing me to do things its way. I bit back a scream, turning it into a grunt instead. All the men instantly went on high alert, aware that something was happening.

“I havna felt such power in a long time,” Malcolm said, his eyes narrowed and expression guarded.

I gave in, letting the voice have its way. If I didn’t, it would tell its own version of the story and I wanted control over how my secrets came out. That didn’t mean I liked it, though, and when I spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “I was hit by lightning ten years ago.” I lifted  my shirt to show them the white lines that criss-crossed my stomach. The lines ran up and down the right side of my body, marking the ripples of electricity that had shocked me. “I died three times. At least that’s what the doctors told me. When I came to, I had this voice, this thing inside me.” I gestured to my stomach, where I most often felt its presence.

“What was it?” asked Gavin leaning forward, his attention rapt.

“It’s the future.” I rushed the words out, afraid if I gave myself time to think I wouldn’t say them at all.

“You have the sight then,” Malcolm said, calm save for a spark of excitement in his eyes.

I shrugged. “I don’t know what it is, but I know what I can do.”

“Tell me.” Malcolm motioned for me to continue.

“I read energy, like the vibe of people and things around me.” I waved my hand to indicate the room. “This voice talks to me and sometimes I have visions.”

“Is that why those men were after you?” Alec asked.

I nodded. “I made the mistake of telling people and showing them what I could do.” I worried my bottom lip, gathering my thoughts, trying to decide how much I should say. “I turned down all the job offers, but there are people and…other things out there who aren’t interested in employing me. They want to own me and make me serve their purposes. I’ve been on the run for years, trying to keep away from them.”

The men gulped down their tea in unison, taking a moment to digest everything I’d said.

“Can you take it away with your magic?” I asked Malcolm, curious. “Can you turn me back into a regular human that no one would want?” I didn’t know a lot about magic, but if he’d brought me here with a spell, maybe he could get rid of the voice.

He pursed his lips and thought for a long moment and then said, “I donna know, lass. I will have to research it.”

Alec put an arm around me. I stiffened at the contact at first, feeling a violation of my personal space but that soon gave way to a sensation of comfort. Giving me a squeeze, Alec said, “But I do know we can keep you safe, lass. You don’t have to run anymore.”

“And in return, you can break our curse,” Malcolm said with a smile.

I went still for a moment and narrowed my eyes at Malcolm’s words. “Excuse me?” Just when I thought I couldn’t be surprised, something else popped up to prove me wrong.

“We’re cursed,” Alec said. “And without our maidens we will remain so.”

The food I’d eaten turned leaden in my stomach. “You think I’m going to save you?”

“Aye, we do,” Malcolm said with a decisive nod.

Chapter Three

Alec took me to the turret after we finished the dragon biker version of tea and crumpets, curses and fireballs (oh my!). His brothers had abruptly left after dropping the curse bomb on me, filing out of the kitchen and shooting pointed looks at Alec as they went. I had a feeling he’d been given the task of filling me in on the rest of the story. I should have run earlier and I should have run then, but I stayed, mostly because I was tired. The castle seemed safe enough for me to risk one night. I would find a way out tomorrow. Until then, I would play along.

Outside, the sun managed to push a few meager rays through the gray cloud cover. The wind helped by blowing strong enough to make the clouds roil, creating gaps for more sunlight to pass through.

“What do you think of all this?” Alec asked me as he peered over the edge, taking in the ground below. “Do you believe in dragons?”

I lifted my head to the sky, preferring the wind to the weight of the earth. It smelled like rain. Again. Scotland was a wet place.

Soon, agreed the voice.

Oh shut up, I thought at it. I don’t need you to state the obvious. To Alec, I said, “I guess I do now. I don’t really understand what’s going on though.” He started to speak, but I held up my hand. “I get that you’re looking for your maiden to break your curse, but I can’t be it. There’s no way. There must be a mistake.”

“I donna know, lass. It feels right to me.” His hazel eyes searched my face. “That kiss--”

I cut him off. “Was an accident.”

Alec shook his head. “No, lass. It wasna. It rang through me like church bells, sweet and holy and right.” When I tensed, he stepped away as if not wanting to crowd me. “I’ll give you time, lass. There’s no rush. I’ve been waiting for two centuries, it hurts me none to wait more.”  He strode over to the turret wall and climbed up to perch on its edge.

I paused for a second, stunned by the idea of living that long. “You’ve been alive for two hundred years? Are you serious?” It boggled my mind. All that time. He’d seen wars start and end, witnessed the advent of electricity, the telephone, the industrial, and now the digital, age. What did he think of all that? Did he have a smart phone or a computer? Or did he avoid it all?

“Aye. Tis true. Come sit with me.” He motioned for me to join him. “I will tell you the nature of our curse.”

I walked over to him, refusing the hand he offered. “I’ll just stand here, if that’s okay.” The idea of my legs swinging free, with nothing to catch me but hard earth a good fifty feet below made my stomach clench. I may not have liked my life at the moment, but I still wanted to live.

“I won’t let you fall.” He peered down at me, but I shook my head.

The voice disagreed with me. Safe.

I thought I told you to shut up? The weight that heralded the voice’s presence dwindled as it receded to the background. Good. The less that thing meddled with my life, the better. I’d been fighting to keep it contained since it first appeared.

Alec waved at me and gave me a questioning look. I’d kept him waiting while I scolded the voice. “Sorry, I get lost inside myself sometimes. Makes carrying a conversation difficult.”

He offered his hand again.

“No thanks. I’m good.” I much preferred the wall in front of me.

Turning to look out at the sprawling green hills that surrounded the castle, he said, “Suit yourself.” Then, a beat later, “How did you come to Inverness?”

“The voice dragged me here, likely aided and abetted by your brother’s spell,” I said unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “It told me I would be safe for a while so I opened a cupcake shop thinking I could be normal.”

“Cupcake?” He quirked an eyebrow at me.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to decide if he was for real. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had one?”

Alec shook his head. “Nay, sorry, lass.”

“You’ve had cakes or tortes, right?” At his nod, I said, “Cupcakes are fancy but smaller versions of cake. I’ll make you some, if you like. Do you prefer chocolate or vanilla?”

“Both,” he said.

“I make a great marble cupcake with a chocolate ganache icing. You would like it.”

“I’m sure I would, lass.” He stared out into the distance, watching the clouds race across the sky.

I moved to stand beside him, leaning against the wall, which came up to my chest.  Resting my elbows on the rough stone, I said, “So you’ve been cursed all this time? All two hundred years?”

“Aye.”

I waited for him to speak, but he remained silent. “That’s all you have to say? ‘Aye?’”

Alec scratched his head. “It’s not a tale I’m used to sharing, lass. I donna know where to start. We’ve kept it a secret for so verra long.”

I knew something of secrets. They would suffocate you if you let them. “Okay, start slow. What’s the curse?”

His posture relaxed a bit. “We are cursed to remain in our human form and on this land until we find our maiden.”

“Who cursed you?”

“One of the fair folk.”

“Why?” I pushed.

“Gavin,” he said as if that name alone explained everything.  Given what I’d observed so far, it probably did, but I wanted details.

“What did he do?”

Alec paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He blinked as the first drop of rain hit his face. “Do you want to go in, lass?”

I wiped a rain drop off my cheek. “Not yet. It’s just sprinkling right now.”

He gave a nod of approval. “You’re not afraid of a little rain.”

I lifted my face to the weather, shivering as the cold water hit me. “You know, if I’d gone inside ten years ago, I wouldn’t be here now.”  Storms used to lure me outside with their darkness and sizzling flashes of light. I’d walked my first storm at the age of ten. It had been a fun hobby until the voice blasted its way inside me.

“If you’d gone inside, I donna know how we would have met.”  A shadow crossed his hazel eyes, tinting them a mocha brown.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be your maiden.” I met his gaze, knowing there would be no shadow in my eyes. My life had no room for extras like love. Even a dalliance was too much to expect.

He lifted one shoulder in agreement and looked away. “Mayhap, but we were talking about Gavin, were we not? All of us are dragons, but we each have our own special skill that sets us apart.”

“Malcolm’s a wizard,” I said.

“A mage,” Alec corrected. “Niall is a healer. I am a scholar and Gavin is a berserker. Do you know what that is?”

“He goes crazy?” I could believe it. He hadn’t seemed all that stable so far.

“No, not crazy. That’s a modern definition. Back in our time, a berserker was a warrior who could not be killed.  No weapon could touch him, and once Gavin starts, he doesna stop until he has destroyed all his enemies.”

“He’s invincible.”

“Aye. Tis a great thing to have him fighting on your side, but he’s not as invincible as we thought.” Alec’s shoulders slumped and his hands clenched into fists. “Knowing he couldna be killed, our enemies conspired to set a trap for us. We thought we were fighting for our lives, but it was just a trick. Another mage opened a portal on the battlefield and Gavin killed many of the Fairy Queen’s court.”

I frowned. “I don’t follow.” I’d never seen a portal, although I recognized it was quite logical that they existed based on everything else I’d seen so far.

“To Gavin, anyone in front of him was to be killed. He canna control himself once he goes berserk. So during battle, the portal thinned the walls between our world and that of the fair folk.” He put his hands together, wiggling his fingers to illustrate his point. “The two worlds overlapped and it all looked the same to Gavin. Many died who were not even part of the fighting.”

“Couldn’t you stop him?”

“We picked him up in our dragon forms and dropped him in the North Sea to come to his senses, but by the time we intervened the damage had been done.” He sighed. “In truth, of all of us, he needs his maiden most. Only she can calm the berserker in him. If he’d found her back then, the battle may have ended very differently.”

“Sorry. I guess Malcolm’s spell didn’t know that.”

“It’s not your fault, lass. No need to be sorry.” He went quiet then, staring out into the horizon as thunder began to rumble. The rain picked up, but I didn’t move or speak, wanting to give Alec some space. I could tell by the furrow in his brow and the sadness in his eyes that the past had come to take its toll again.

After a while, he resumed speaking, gaze fixed on the rolling moors in the distance. “We apologized and Gavin offered his life to the Fairy Queen, but she was too angry to let that be the end of it. She cast this curse on us, trapping us in human form and anchoring us to this place. Time rushes by,” he waved a hand, “but we don’t change.”

Lightning shattered the sky, punctuating his words. I flinched. I’d learned to distrust the raw energy of the earth. It had caused me no end of trouble.

Alec caught my reaction. “Are you all right?”

So much for the girl who’s not afraid, I thought to myself. Of course, I highly doubted Alec had ever been touched by lightning. Being electrocuted by Mother Nature and imbued with a paranormal something I  never wanted made me jumpy around storms.

I blinked the rain out of my eyes and widened my stance, preparing to shoulder the storm. If Alec could stand it, so could I.  After all, there wasn’t much more that could be done to ruin my life. I had nothing left to lose. “Yes, I’m fine,” I said, my voice flat.

The weather mocked me with multiple streaks of lightning. Thunder boomed loud enough to shake my heart in my chest. Alec jumped down from the turret wall. Squinting, he tracked the storm clouds that were coalescing right over us..

“We should go in.” He took my elbow and nudged me toward the door that would lead into the safety of the castle, but I couldn’t move.

My hair was floating, rising toward the sky. The last time that had happened, I’d ended up with the voice.

Alec turned back to me, eyes widening as he caught sight of my hair. His coppery strands were winding their way upward as well.

“Run,” I told him, fighting the energy taking over my body. It was too late for me, I could feel it in my bones, but Alec might have a shot if he moved fast enough.

He did run….right toward me.

“No,” I screamed as his arms went around me. Lightning zapped the turret, bright as a strobe light. The air crackled in my ears, a loud static. I closed my eyes and braced myself, waiting for the pain, but it didn’t come.

Opening my eyes, I tried to figure out what was going on. The lightning still snapped around us, an electric predator hungry for a kill. Alec had wrapped himself almost completely around me, sheltering my smaller frame in his much larger one.

His eyes closed, he grunted and groaned as the storm’s fury dropped on our heads. Small licks of lightning seemed to reach out and lash his back. I could feel the way his muscles tightened with every hit.  Where I would have passed out by now, Alec stood strong and unscathed.

I kept waiting for the storm to pass, for the lightning to fade, but it didn’t. It pounded and thrashed the turret, going on and on until I suspected it wasn’t a natural phenomena.

Attack, agreed the voice.

“We should go inside. It’s not a real storm,” I yelled to Alec, pushing for him to shuffle with me toward the door.

He gripped me tighter and moved with me, but way too slow. We would be charred like meat on a grill at this rate. I yanked against his arms, frantic to go faster. “Come on, before you get hit again.”

“Och, lass, donna worry about me. I’m half made of fire.” His eyes met mine and I saw his pupils had gone as copper as his hair. “This storm can’t hurt me.”

A shout sounded and Malcolm joined us on the turret. Covering my back, he said, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, but there’s something wrong with this storm.” I gestured to the sky as best I could considering the fact I was pinned between both men.

“I know, I can feel its magic,” he said, his voice grim.

“Can you tell who it is?” I asked.

“No, but I will find out,” Malcolm said, his voice curt. “They’ve broken the wards on the castle and I willna let that stand.”

“We should go inside. We’re not safe out here.” I tried to physically urge the men toward the door, but they stood firm. Both Alec’s and Malcolm’s arms tightened around me, holding me in place.

“There’s no shelter from this storm, lass,” said Malcolm. “It’s magic. Better to face it here than let it loose inside the castle.”

“What does it want?” I asked confused.

“You. Can you not feel it?”

My stomach sank as I read the energy around me. I should have done that earlier, then maybe I wouldn’t have missed the weather’s true intent. Malcolm had been right, the storm had an extra weight to its presence that I had learned to associate with heavy magic. It had to be the witches. They were the only group I’d encountered who used magic so openly in their quest to trap me.

I poked at the voice. Are you there? I’d been distracted by Alec, but where had the voice been? Sleeping? If so, it would be the first time the voice missed an attack on me.

Safe, said the voice, unconcerned with the storm. It didn’t think an outright attack was a threat. Well, that was a new one.

I worried my bottom lip, trying to sort out what this meant. If the witches’ spell worked and they found me what would happen then?

Dragons, said the voice.  A vision flashed into my mind’s eye of the turret and Alec and the magic denied. They’d hit Alec with a direct strike and nothing had happened which meant…

“They can’t touch me here,” I said, wonder filling my voice. Pushing against the men, I wiggled my way free.  Hands raised in the air, I screamed, “Bring it! Come on you sadistic bitches, just try and take me now.”

The storm, which had paused for a moment, gathered itself and surged right for me, electricity snapping in the air. My long tresses didn’t just stand on end, the energy yanked at them until I thought it might actually pull my hair out of my head.  Lightning cracked the air like a bull whip, striking the turret, but never coming close enough to actually touch me.

I threw my head back and laughed, feeling powerful instead of hunted. The wind convulsed around me, angry and thrashing. Neon blue and brilliant white flashed as thunder boomed, but as loud as it was, I refused to move. The running stopped here.

My moment of glory was ruined when Alec grabbed me and dragged me back through the door. I fought him, not wanting to leave, not understanding what was happening. It wasn’t until I saw Malcolm standing in the spot I’d been, lightning webbing over him like rope that I realized the truth.

I hadn’t been safe.

I wasn’t untouchable.

The voice had lied.

No, it said immediately, tone sharp. Dragons.

Then Malcolm blinked out of existence, the storm disappearing with him.

“Malcolm,” Alec cried out. He ran outside while I stayed in the relative safety of the stairwell that led to the turret. Kneeling, he planted a hand where his brother had been as if hoping to grab Malcolm and bring him back, but that didn’t happen.

Alec looked over his shoulder, anguish furrowing his forehead. “Where is he?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He jumped to his feet and was in front of me before I could blink. Shaking my shoulders, he asked, “Find out.”

I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me,” I said, my voice an angry hiss.

“They were after you. Malcolm has been taken in your place. You have to tell me where he is so I can save him.” Alec’s hands dropped at his side and I could see how hard he worked to remain calm, taking deep breaths and clenching his jaw to hold his emotions in check.

Heavy steps pounded the stairs behind me. The other brothers hurtled toward us, their faces twisted with worry.

Gavin arrived first. “What happened?” he asked, not even out of breath after bounding up what I’d counted earlier as two hundred steps.

Niall came right behind his brother. “Malcolm told us to stay inside, but then we heard him yelling.” His brown eyes searched my face. “Is everything okay?”

Alec shook his head. “Nay.” He held up his hands. “Malcolm is gone.”

Gavin’s eyes went wide with shock and his mouth fell open. “What do you mean he’s gone? What about the curse?”

“How many times have we tried to destroy that bloody spell or even tunnel under it, only to find it unbreakable?” Niall asked, his lips a thin angry line as he looked from me to Alec and back.

“I donna know what happened, brothers.” Alec pointed to me. “But she is the key to fixing it.”

I edged back, eyeing the distance between me and the dragon brothers and the stairs leading to the ground floor of the castle. Given how fast Alec had moved earlier, I doubted I would make it, and the voice wasn’t helping me either, trusting in this delusion that a band of cursed dragon shifters was somehow my salvation.

Niall, catching the direction of my gaze, stepped to block the way to the stairs. “What do you know, lass?” His voice was gentle, but steel gleamed in his eyes. Fiery, red steel that would not hesitate to burn me if it became necessary.

“I don’t know anything.” I crossed my arms.

“Some maiden she is,” snorted Gavin. He looked me up and down, a little disapproving smirk on his face. First he’d wanted to bite me, now he was my judge and jury?

“Oh fuck you,” I shouted. “I never asked to be anyone’s maiden.” To Alec, I added, “You should have never brought me here or at least let me leave when I wanted to, then none of this would’ve happened.”

“That’s not how it is with a dragon and his maiden,” Alec said. “We’re destined for each other. To turn away from fate’s desire is to invite death.”

“Okay, well, maybe that’s how dating worked back in your day, but in the twenty-first century, we don’t believe in destiny or fate. They don’t exist.”

All three men rolled their eyes at me, which made me want to smack them in turn. I made my own fate and destiny was a word used only by fake psychics.

Not true, sniffed the voice in my gut.

Shut up, I growled at it. I’d been a modern woman in a modern world before it showed up. I’d never asked for this fucking magic, never wanted to lift the veil. Now I’d added a missing dragon shifter to the mix. Like I knew anything about that.

“You see the future, right, lass?” Niall’s voice intruded on my thoughts. “Can you not look to see where Malcolm is or where he will be?”

“He has to be here. The curse wouldna let him go any further.” Gavin headed for the stairs, his stride full of purpose. “I will go search for him. If there’s magic here in Inverness beyond our own, it canna hide from us.”

A vision sucker punched me just then, coming out of nowhere. I gasped and fell to my knees as white hot pain twisted through my head. I saw women, a group of them and they were full of magic. The witches. It had to be. The energy’s flavor was the same as the storm, which now that I was focused on it, I realized it matched what I’d felt in Rome.

They gathered around their prize, but shrieked with fury when they saw it wasn’t me. Malcolm lay in a motionless heap, unaware of the stir he’d caused. The witches pawed at him, moving almost as one, like they shared some kind of hive mind or some other weirdness I could really live without learning about.

They weren’t in Inverness. Not even close, although I couldn’t pinpoint a city. I had a sense of yawning distance, a jump through time and space followed by a hard landing. Somehow their magic had circumvented the curse anchoring the dragon shifters in place. I wondered if that meant Malcolm could now shift.

Taking a cue from my thoughts, the scene changed, spinning like a whirling top before settling on another moment in the future, one where Malcolm lived in a dark stone room with a tiny slit for a window.  His clothing was tattered and his ribs ran in a raised row up and down his chest. He’d been starved.

Shift, I thought at him. Escape.

He stirred, raising his head and looked at me as if he could see me. “I canna, lass. You must save me another way.”

And then the vision was gone. My consciousness returned to the turret, the floor feeling unsteady and uncertain beneath my feet. My eyes closed, I folded in on myself until I huddled on the floor, hands pressed against my temples.

Someone kneeled next to me and touched my shoulder. “What did you see, lass?” Alec asked, his voice gentle.

I whimpered. My temples throbbed, pain sizzling through me like hot fireworks. For all that the vision had cost me, I’d accomplished nothing.

“Please, lass. Tell us. He’s our brother. Our flesh and our blood.” This was Niall and the pleading sincerity in his voice twisted my heart. I remembered what it was like to have a family and I knew too well the agony of having them all ripped from you, destroyed to serve someone else’s mad whim.

“Not to mention our mage. We will lose our way out without Malcolm,” added Gavin.

I shuddered as the headache grew to include my back. Electric tingles zapped along my nervous system as if I had my own personal source of lightning. I’d seen the future, but I had no answers.

Taking a small breath, sipping at the air so as not to aggravate my head further, I searched for the voice, that coil of presence living inside me, but it was silent. I would have to force it to speak.

Raising my head, I willed my eyes to open. “I need alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.” So much for running. On this one, it looked like I was going to be all in. The thought terrified me, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I turned my back on Malcolm.

Alec nodded to Gavin who took off down the stairs. “What are you going to do?” Alec’s hazel eyes had gold flames in them now.

“I need to get drunk.”

Niall started to protest, but I cut him off.

“You don’t understand. I didn’t see enough. He’s alive. I can tell you that much, but I don’t know where or when.”

“What will the alcohol do for you?” Alec remained still while Niall began to pace back and forth.

I gestured to my head, miming an explosion. “It blows things wide open.” I reached for Alec, grasping his warm hand in my cold one. I couldn’t say why, but I chose him. Maybe it was that destiny bullshit or maybe it was simply that we’d kissed and it had been special enough for me to feel safe with him. “You have to watch me. I might go a little nuts.”

“Define nuts.” Niall paused in his pacing and peered at me.

“I might try to leave. I might…,” I closed my eyes again and remembered how the knife had slipped into my stomach. “Try to hurt myself. Someone needs to spot me.”

“I’ll do it, donna fash yourself, lass.” Alec squeezed my hand.

“And we need a safe space. A small room without too much furniture.” I pulled on Alec’s hand, trying to stand up, but my strength had evaporated with the vision. The throbbing in my head swelled until I felt like a balloon with too much air. The pressure of the pulsing inside my skull threatened to blow me apart. I sank back to the floor just as Gavin arrived, a metal flask in his hand.

“Here.” He handed it to me and then produced a second. “I filled two. If you need more I’ll go back down.”

I unscrewed the flask’s lid, my fingers fumbling so much that Alec made to swoop in and help me. I pushed him away and finished opening the dratted thing, which, apparently, had been made so long ago it no longer remembered it was supposed to open and close.  Tilting my head, I let the alcohol sear my throat until the flask was empty. Shoving it back toward Gavin, I said, “Give me the other one.”

This time he opened the flask for me before handing it over. I drained it faster than the first. “Do you need more?” Gavin asked, poised at the top step, ready to bolt down if I said yes.

“No.” I turned my head until Alec was in my field of vision. The world swam around me and I knew soon I would be gone, lost to the power that had decided my body was a good place to call home. “Take me somewhere safe.”

He didn’t hesitate and quickly scooped me up in his strong arms. His gait sturdy despite my added weight, he descended the staircase. His brothers trailed after us, and peeking over Alec’s broad shoulder, I noted their expressions were a mix of confusion and concern.

Well, join the club, I thought.

The world went black around the edges. I didn’t have much time. “Hurry,” I slurred to Alec, urging him on with a pat to his shoulder.

“We’re almost there, lass. Hang on.” He rounded a corner and ran down a hallway until he reached the end. Then through a door and we were in a small room with only a bed, a chair and a small table to occupy it. Alec set me on the bed and went to shut the door, saying to his brothers, “I will stay with her. You two keep watch in case they decide to come after her again.”

What Niall and Gavin thought of this plan, I didn’t know. I was gone.

Chapter Four

First there was darkness. A sleek blackness that ate light and pressed close against my skin, soft as fur. I waited for it to transform, to mutate into what I needed to see.

Malcolm. Show me where he is. I whispered those words over and over.

The voice unfurled, slithering through my consciousness until we were tangled into a tight knot. I lost track of the line between me and not me. We had blended into one.

I panicked.

Let me go, I yelled into the blackness.

The voice wrapped itself even closer, speaking in complete sentences now. I’m under your skin, in your heartbeat, nesting in your mind. I’m you.

No.  I tried to strike out and hit the voice, but there was no gravity in my mind and nothing to push off of.

I will show you everything. I am what you need. Who you are supposed to be. You aren’t complete without me.

Then show me, I spat. Make yourself useful and find Malcolm or I swear, when I wake up, I will cut you out with a fucking chainsaw even if it kills me.

That must’ve impressed the voice, or maybe it just remembered the stabbing, because the darkness gave way to Malcolm’s face.  He appeared huge, as if projected onto a large movie screen and I was just an audience member.

Where is he? I paced inside the auditorium the voice had constructed, wishing I could jump into the screen. Maybe I could be with Malcolm that way, perhaps even save him.

New York, whispered the voice. An address flashed in my mind, a jumble of letters and numbers. I chased after them, but they dodged me, sliding away before I could put them in order. I gave up, deciding it was futile and let them fade.

I thought I was done then, thought I could walk away, but the booze must’ve hit me harder than I’d realized because the voice wasn’t finished with me. I wanted to go, but I wasn’t the one in charge. The screen flickered and the next image came up.

First, I saw Alec’s naked chest, smooth skin taut over hard muscle and his copper hair licking down his torso like a live flame. He was with someone: Me.

My breath caught in my throat. What is this?

He is your future. Meant for you.

I shook my head back and forth, trying to shake the vision loose, but the image stayed.

Alec kissed my throat as I sighed and ran my hand over his shoulder, twining my fingers in that glorious hair. Even in my disembodied state, I felt a flush of wet desire wash over me. Alec stroked his hands along my body, teasing my breasts and then the cleft between my thighs. I echoed my own gasp, somehow feeling the sensations from the vision.

To my relief, the scene finally changed. We were even further into the future. I could tell because I had aged. Little lines crinkled around my eyes when I smiled. Alec and I stood on the castle turret, our fingers intertwined. Not only was I happy, I was older and in the same place.

What does this mean? I demanded.

It’s time to change your journey, sighed the voice. To set you on the path you were supposed to walk.

I wanted to ask more questions, but lips covered my mouth, stealing my air. I couldn’t breathe. The vision faded, the voice receded and I fell into a black void.

#

Someone’s mouth was pressed against mine, gently plucking at my lips. I moaned and the kiss ended. Now a hand smoothed my hair from my face. Whoever it was, held my hand, too. Their thumb caressed the back of my palm over and over, the pattern fast and jittery with worry. It annoyed me. I wanted smooth, reassuring strokes, not this bouncy agitation of my nerves.

The only way to stop it was to wake up.

I cringed before I even opened my eyes. Right on cue, the throbbing in my head resumed. Between the voice and the alcohol, the word ‘hangover’ wouldn’t come close. Try more like ‘how you feel after being mauled by a sledgehammer and a flu virus at the same time’ and that still wouldn’t quite cover it. The word I needed hadn’t been invented yet. Maybe no one else had ever felt this bad.

The world had passed through night into day while I’d been arguing with my paranormal infestation. Just to be contrary, the sun shone bright as a helicopter spotlight. Someone had hunted me that way once and the garish light had left me half-blind for a good hour afterwards.

I missed the gloomy pre-storm weather of the day before.

Alec sat beside me on the bed, my hand clasped in his. He’d been the thumb that had irritated me into consciousness. I snatched my hand away and frowned at him.

He knitted his brow at my reaction. “Everything okay, lass?”

“Were we…kissing?” I touched my lips unable to tell the difference between what had just been a vision and what had actually happened.

“Aye,” he said with a curt nod.

Anger heated my belly, but before I could burn him with it, he added, “You asked me to.”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback.

“You were screaming.” He twisted his hands. “Something had you and wouldn’t let go. You begged me to do it. I hope that was okay.”

“It was fine,” I said, my voice short. I couldn’t get the vision of his naked body covering mine out of my head. It made the real kiss mean more than it should have.

“Did you see anything?” His eyes met mine, filled with so much worry, the copper flecks had gone dark.

“Yeah.” I moved to sit up and Alec helped me, steadying me with one hand as I swung my legs over to hit the floor.  I opened my mouth to tell him where to find his brother, but my stomach had other ideas. With one massive contraction, my abdominal wall yanked me out of bed and to the floor where I vomited up what was left of the Scotch I’d drank.

Alec, moving as fast and graceful as a cat, gathered up my hair just in time.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I mumbled. For some reason, tossing my cookies always made me repentant. Like an apology would make it stop.

“Shush, lass. Tis not a surprise after all ye drank last night.”

I sniffed and then heaved again, purging way more than I’d eaten the day before. Maybe it was the voice finally leaving me for good. I hoped so.

Alec kept my hair back and when it seemed like I was finally done, he lifted me to the bed, perching me on the edge. Standing up, he went to a pitcher sitting on the small table under the one window in the room. Pouring some water into a silver goblet, he offered it to me. “Here, drink this. It will help.”

I accepted the goblet and took in tiny amounts of water, having learned long ago that too much of anything too fast when I was in this state was bad news. In between sips, I said, “He’s in New York. I have an address.” The numbers and letters arranged themselves in my mind’s eye and I rattled them off, but Alec gave me a blank look.

My shoulders slumped. “Oh right. You’ve haven’t been outside of Inverness for a few centuries.” I straightened back up. “I’ll go with you. You’ll want someone around who knows the world outside of this castle.”

“I canna go, lass. You’ve forgotten the curse.” Alec raised his eyebrows at me.

I sighed and fought the urge to slump again. I would not be weak, that would not help me. “I know. I’ll be your maiden or whatever.”

His eyes lit up and his entire expression became bright and happy. I’d never seen him like that before and it transformed him from handsome to utterly gorgeous. His eyes danced with glints of copper and his smile showed off sculpted cheekbones. Add in his body and why was I so worried about being his maiden again?

Oh yeah, the voice in my gut was a sociopath.

I held up a finger, hating to burst his bubble, but not wanting to give him false hope either. “But I make no promises beyond breaking the curse. We barely know each other and I might not be safe here.”

He kneeled next to where I sat, looking at me as if I was all that mattered in the world. “I will keep you safe, lass. You donna have to worry.”

“You said that before and look what happened to Malcolm. There are people out there like those witches who will do anything to have me.”

Alec shook his head. “Once Malcolm is here, between his magic and our strength we will make sure no one ever gets close to you again.”

“Just promise me one thing, Alec.”

“What? All I have is yours.”  He took the empty goblet from me and set it on the floor so he could cradle my hands in his.

“If I say I have to run, don’t stop me.”

He frowned. “I’ll run with you then.”

“If I’m running it’s because none of you can protect me. You have to let me go.” I looked down, noting the way our fingers had interlaced, same as that moment on the turret I’d seen in my vision. We cleaved together as if we’d been made to fit each other’s curves. The intimacy of it rattled me. I hadn’t been this close to anyone since before the lightning strike. “I can’t take you with me. I don’t want to be responsible for anything else bad happening.”

He was silent for a moment, unhappy with my request, but he finally acquiesced with a curt nod. “All right, but I will spend my life making sure you don’t have to hold me to that promise. I will keep you safe. You’ve been alone for so long, Sara, you’ve forgotten what it means when someone has your back.”

I didn’t argue with him. He was probably right.  Instead, I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to release the weight of the world on my shoulders. It didn’t work. “So what do we do now?” I freed my hands and moved to lift my shirt over my head, but Alec caught the hem and held it down.

“Not here, lass.” He glanced around his bedroom. “It’s too small in here.”

“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word. How much room did Alec need?

“And you’re soaked with sweat and probably starving. You’re not ready.” His gaze briefly flickered to the pool of vomit on the floor, but he tactfully said nothing.

“We don’t have a lot of time, Alec.” I pressed my lips together until they thinned.

“Aye, you’re right. But we have a few minutes to set you right.” He stood up. “I’ll show you where the bathroom is so you can clean up while I go find something to break our fast.”

I followed him out of his room and down another interminable stone hallway to a bathroom barely big enough to fit me let alone Alec or his brothers. I turned to Alec, bumping the sink with my hip as I did so. “How do any of you use the bathroom?”

I couldn’t even stretch my arms out without whacking a wall. The guidebooks had warned me of tiny bathrooms in Europe and I’d seen enough to know they weren’t exaggerating, but I still found it astonishing. Had Europe originally been colonized by tiny little fairy folk or what?

“There’s a bigger one on the other side of the castle.” He flicked a switch, turning on a light over the sink. “This one wasna made with us in mind.”

“Then who did you build it for?”

“You or whichever maiden showed up first.”  He opened a narrow cabinet by the toilet and pulled out a pile of towels. “Although apparently we underestimated your size.”

I took the towels and hung them on the hooks next to the sink. “I’m not even a big person. I’d say your scale is way off.”

“Well, the water will get you clean no matter the size of the shower.” He smiled at me, eyes twinkling. “And you donna have to share with me or my brothers, so there’s that. Now I’ll take my leave and find us some food. Come down to the kitchen when you’re done.”

***

The shower stall produced a trickle of water and I kept bumping into the wall, but I managed to wash off the grime of the night before. While I had towels, there were no toiletries, but I had managed to keep my backpack with me through all the chaos. It had the essentials I needed to freshen up, including a change of underwear and a clean t-shirt.

As I brushed my teeth with my flimsy travel toothbrush, I tried not to think about what was going to happen next. Alec and I were going to consummate the magic that had brought us together. Remembering the kiss we’d shared when we first met, I couldn’t deny that there’d been a tingle, but the idea of something permanent and stable seemed impossible. Those words hadn’t defined my life in a long time.

And what about the voice? Telling me we were one and all that jazz? Was I possessed? I had no idea, and until I did, I would never feel safe. The danger wasn’t just from others, it came from inside me too.

Chapter Five

In the kitchen, Alec sat at the table munching on a cookie. He nodded at me in greeting while Niall welcomed me with a smile and a cup of hot coffee.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the steaming mug. When I took a sip, I thought maybe I’d been hasty in my gratitude. The bitter coffee had been mixed with the burn of scotch.

“Good morn to you, lass. After last night I thought you might need some hair of the dog. You’ve a big day ahead of you and you’ll need a strong drink to keep you upright.”

“This isn’t hair, it’s the entire dog,” I murmured as I eyed the contents of the cup.

Niall chuckled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Aye, that’s how we do it here in the highlands.” He tapped his head. “The best cure for a hangover is an even stronger drink.”

I nodded politely and decided I would drink only a little bit. The last thing I needed was to get buzzed and give the voice an opening.  “Could I have some regular coffee, too?” As much as I feared the voice, I was just as leery of life without caffeine. Especially when in the throes of a hangover.

Niall poured me a new cup. “Aye. No problem, lass. I made more cookies, too.” He lifted a plate stacked high with lemon sugar cookies.

I held up a hand as my stomach recoiled. “Not yet. Maybe once the coffee hits my bloodstream.”

Niall’s smile faltered. “I’m sure they donna compare to your cupcakes--”

“They’re delicious,” I said, hastening to reassure him. “My stomach is just a little tender this morning, that’s all. And who told you about my cupcakes?”

Niall nodded to Alec. “He did. Said you had a shop.”

“Well, I did until a bunch of bad guys showed up. The ones Alec saved me from.” I sipped my coffee, the non-alcoholic one, and wondered if I would ever make it back to my little bakery. “To tell you the truth, though, I’m not sure what the future holds for me in the cupcake department.”

Niall patted the wooden counter between us. “Och, well this kitchen is always open to you, lass.”

“Thank you,” I said, warmed by Niall’s generous heart. After Alec, Niall was my favorite of the dragon bikers. Malcolm was next. As for Gavin, I wouldn’t even put him on the list. At the thought of the contrary blond, I scanned the room and did a quick biker head count. “Where’s Gavin?” We were short one tall Scotsman with a bad attitude.

Alec sauntered over to where I stood and pulled me close for a quick peck on the cheek. The scent of juniper mixed with leather filled my senses and I inhaled it, taking comfort in his steady presence. If I was honest with myself, last night had made me like him close to me. Even when I’d been lost in the voice, I’d called out to him to anchor me with a kiss. When I’d been sick, he’d cared for me like I’d mattered.

Letting me go, Alec said, “Gavin’s cleaning the bedroom.”

I smothered a laugh as Alec went to pour himself coffee. Gavin wouldn’t get any sympathy from me, not after all the teeth gnashing the other day. In fact, I rather thought it served him right.

Offering me his elbow, Alec said, “So, are you ready, Sara?”

I froze, the mug halfway to my mouth. Oh, that was a loaded question. No, I wasn’t ready, but Malcolm needed all the help he could get and the voice was adamant that Alec was my future. Plus, I kind of did like the guy. Or at least lusted after him.

If nothing else, I had to reunite the brothers. Not to mention, I would not knowingly leave anyone in the hands of the witches. They had started hounding me a year ago, and while the coven was not the first group to try and grab me, they were the ones who scared me the most. Their magic made nightmares seem pleasant.

Niall came to me, prying the coffee cup from my hand and setting it aside so he could give me a hug. “Welcome to our family, lass. After today you’re one of us.”

“I might not stay,” I said, unable to accept the warmth and sincerity of Niall’s words. It didn’t feel real. Despite what the voice said about my future, not having anything or anyone to lean on was what felt true to me.

Niall drew back to look me in the eye, but kept his arms around me. “What is this nonsense?” He gave me a little shake.

“It’s not nonsense.” I drew myself up to my full height, which barely reached Niall’s chest. These dragon men were big. “You have your curse, I have mine. Maybe I can set Alec free, maybe I can help save Malcolm, but nothing changes for me.” This was my nice way of saying ‘don’t get your hopes up,’ both to them and myself. No matter how much I’d liked Alec at my side the night before, I couldn’t fool myself that it could last. That would only cause us both heartache.

Niall looked to Alec. “What is she talking about?”  His head swung back to me. “Lass, today you lay claim to the heart of a dragon. He will become yours, you will become his and no one will dare come between you.”

I hoped he was right. I liked the idea of finding someone I could love and build a life with. It had been a dream I let die a long time ago.

***

Alec led me outside, a full mug of coffee in his hand. I hurried to keep up with his long strides. “Where are we going?”

“The MacTeine stone circle,” he said, slowing a bit as he noticed me struggling to keep up.

“What for?” I nibbled at one of Niall’s lemon sugar cookies, wanting the weight of food in my tender stomach.

“That’s where dragons claim their maidens.”

I swallowed hard. “Oh.”

“Donna be afraid, lass.” He flashed a smile. “It’ll be the same as when we kiss, but better. I swear it.”

I didn’t really have a response to that, so we walked on in companionable silence. I worked on finishing my cookie while Alec drank his coffee as we followed a narrow trail that led into the moors surrounding the castle. Clouds had dimmed the sun, keeping it from being over-bright, and the coffee I’d drank earlier kept my head from exploding, so all in all, I didn’t feel too horrible. As late summer days in Scotland went, it was a nice one. The wind was soft and buoyant, stirring my hair and flipping the hem of Alec’s black kilt.

My mouth went dry at the thought of what was under that dark fabric. Soon, I wouldn’t have to wonder, I would know.

Alec peered at me over his coffee cup, eyebrows raised in concern. “You all right, lass?”

I nodded and forced a smile. “Nice day isn’t it?” I fixed my eyes on the sky.

Alec took my hand in his. “Donna fash yourself. We were born for each other.”

“I wish I could believe that,” I whispered.

“You will know it after today.” He stopped walking and pulled on my hand until I stopped too. “Why did you agree to this, lass? You could run if you wanted to. We can’t chase you.”

“I know.” I kept my gaze focused on the clouds above. If I looked at Alec it would be real and I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. “But it’s my fault Malcolm’s gone. I can’t stop the voice. I can’t keep people from chasing me, but I can try to fix the damage.” I met his eyes then. “I know what it is to live with magic you don’t want. If I can help you, then maybe there’s hope for me.”

I didn’t mention my vision because I didn’t trust it.  It’s one thing to see the future, another thing entirely to be certain of it. The voice had led me astray once before, I couldn’t count on it no matter how much I wanted to believe what I’d seen.

Alec stepped closer to me and tilted my head up as his lips crushed mine. He kissed me until I was breathless and then let me go. “And this, what does this mean to you?”

“I don’t know,” I said, fighting to stop the ache that quivered through me at his touch. “It feels like a beautiful lie, Alec. This isn’t my life. I’m not the one who gets to be happy, I’m the one who gets everyone killed and probably dies a grisly death.”

“You don’t understand dragons then, lass.” He thumped his chest with one hand. “We’re the ones left standing, the ones no one can defeat. We don’t die, we win.”

We resumed walking then and Alec kept my hand, holding it loosely but securely within his. The warmth of his palm radiated to mine and the tingle that always sparked between us tickled my skin.

“How much further is it to the circle?” I asked, already tired. The night before had sapped my energy and my reserves hadn’t been replenished yet. I should’ve grabbed more than one cookie.

“Just ahead.” Alec pointed to a softly rising hill in the distance. If I squinted, I could make out the tops of tall stones. “Dragons and maidens have joined there since we started counting time. Tis a holy place for my clan.”

I made a non-committal but appreciative noise, unsure of what to say. My nerves were getting to me. Fear and anticipation swirled through me, making me unsteady. I desired Alec, wanted his body against mine and even inside mine, but what that meant terrified me.

The stone circle sat atop a softly rounded mound covered in verdant grass. A mix of white and purple flowers grew around the stones and Alec picked several of the white ones before stepping inside the circle. I followed him, blinking when I felt the hum of power running around the stones. It was a good energy, light and pleasant.

“The magic here is nice,” I said, walking slowly from stone to stone.

“Is it?” Alec began to weave the flowers together. For all that he had large hands, his fingers moved with deft accuracy.

“What are those?” I asked.

“Heather,” he said. “The white is lucky for brides.” He finished his weaving and showed me the wreath he’d made. “This is for you.”

I held my breath as he set it upon my head. Tears gathered in my eyes. My parents should have been here. There should’ve been a bridal shower, a ring on my finger and a honeymoon. Instead I had a groom  I barely knew, a sprinkling of magic and a rescue mission. As always, desperation ruled my life, propelling me into yet another situation I had to find a way to survive.

Alec wiped a tear off my cheek, his gaze tender. “We do not join under ideal circumstances, but my heart beat for you from that first kiss, lass. My fire burns for you, and all that I have, all that I am is yours.”

I sucked in air, fighting not to sob and caught the earthy scent of the heather adorning my head. Words came to my lips, nowhere near as pretty as his, but heartfelt. “I will be yours, Alec the dragon, until I can’t.”

He clasped my hands in his. “We are now bound together, man and wife, dragon and maiden. May the gods smile upon us.”

The magic in the circle intensified, singing in the air with a series of low, bell-like notes. The voice within me hummed along with it. Above us clouds cleared and the sun crowned us in a golden haze as Alec kissed me. It was the most beautiful summer day I’d seen since I’d arrived in Scotland.

Alec didn’t stop at a kiss this time. His hand cradled my head, lips searing mine while his other hand cupped one breast and then moved down to do the same to my backside.

His Scottish burr a deep rasp, he said, “I will devote my life to making you happy, love.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I panted. The heat of his body so close to mine made it hard to breathe.

“Dragons always keep their promises,” he said, solemn. “Especially to their maidens.”  His hands went to the hem of his shirt and he pulled it off.  I watched the way his biceps flexed and how the rack of muscles in his stomach flexed as he moved. His skin gleamed bronze in the sunlight, reminding me of caramel.

He came for my shirt then, lightly but inexorably lifting it over my head. I didn’t stop him, although I considered it, but I’d committed to seeing this through. For my sake, as much as Alec’s and that of his brothers. I’d meant what I’d said. If I could save them, maybe there was a way to save me, too.

Alec’s gaze skimmed my body and I trembled, wondering if he would find me wanting. I’d avoided people so long, I’d stopped worrying about how I looked.

He slipped his hands under my bra straps and slid them down my shoulders. “You’re so pale, lass. Like marble.”

“Sorry,” I said, abashed that I’d been found wanting.

“Nay, donna say that, not to me. You’re pure as the moon waiting for the sun to set her afire.” He nuzzled my neck, nipping the skin there while his hands unhooked my bra. The fabric fell away and our skin met for the first time.

I gasped at the contact. “You’re so warm.”

“Aye, tis the dragon in me.” His eyes twinkled. “The verra same dragon about to be in you.”

I laughed, finding relief in the humor. “It’s a threesome,” I quipped, but then I frowned. “No, it’s not. There’s four of us.”

“Your voice?”

I grimaced and nodded.

“Och, lass. I will help you beat back that voice. I swear it. I will not let it own you.” His arms tightened around me. “I like the Sara I know verra much and I will not give you up without a fight.”

I drew my head back, tilting my chin so I could meet his eyes. “How do you know you like me? We’re like on day two and kiss number five.”

“Aye, the time has been short, I grant you that, but I know that you are brave and good. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“I like you too, Alec.” I gave a shy smile.

“And how do you know that?” He kissed my nose, making me giggle.

“Because you’ve been strong and sure even though I’m a crazy woman who hears voices.”

He gave a broad grin. “Well, I do believe we are halfway to true love then.”

I raised a doubtful eyebrow.

Alec smoothed a finger over my brow. “Now, lass, donna fret. Just let me take you the rest of the way and you’ll see what I mean.” His hands went to the waist of my jeans and he hesitated for a moment. “Sara, tell me, have you ever known a man?”

“Known?” I frowned and then realized his meaning. “I’m not a virgin, Alec. Sorry to disappoint you.”

He cupped my face between his hands. “Nay, lass, that’s not why I asked. I donna want to scare you by going too fast or too hard.”

I looked deep into his eyes, marveling at the sparks I saw there. “What about you? Have you known a woman?”

He went still and then gave a curt nod. “Aye, I have.” His hands were back at my jeans, this time unbuttoning and unzipping. “Let me show you what I learned.”

Alec inched off my pants and before I could stop him, he ripped off my panties. The lace fabric gave way without protest.

“Hey, I only have two pairs of underwear,” I said.

“I will buy you more,” he growled. “And then rip them all off, one at a time.”

The image that promise put into my head, made my heart thump. “That’s going to get expensive.”

“I can afford it, lass. Right now, I need you to be naked and under me.” He took my hand and pulled me down to the soft grass that filled the stone circle. “Remember when I said I could wait?”

I nodded as I fell back on the grass.

“I lied.” Parting my knees, he slipped a finger into my wet cleft. At the same time, he nibbled at the ticklish flesh of my inner thigh. I squirmed under him, hips dancing both closer and then away as the intensity of his touch became too much. He followed me, though, no matter how I moved. If I strayed too far, his one hand would pin my hip in place with a firm grip.

When he lowered his mouth to flick his tongue over the delicate nub between my legs, he had to use both hands to keep me anchored in place. I strained against him, continuing to want more contact alternating with the need for less, but it wasn’t about what I wanted, Alec was in control.

His tongue seduced me, first with quick back and forth strokes followed by slow, languid ones. He chased me toward the peak and then refused to let me crest. I whimpered with frustration, which made him chuckle, the sound shivering through my skin.

Thrusting fingers inside me, he found other sensitive spots to tease. I couldn’t think, my mind skidding to a halt, as pleasure overwhelmed me. All my attention was on what Alec would do next. Breathless, I waited to feel which way his tongue would move or how hard his fingers would play me from the inside.

He held my pleasure in suspension for almost too long. I went from whimpering to whining and finally to an angry growl. That was when he wrapped his entire mouth around my responsive nub and sucked hard and fast. I bucked as I came, screaming, “Alec!”

The orgasm still had me when he climbed up my body, positioning his hips level with mine. I started to say I wasn’t ready, but it didn’t matter, he was already inside me, his cock hitting the same spots he’d worked with his fingers.

We kissed; tongues hard, teeth sharp and lips hungry. Holding onto his shoulders, I fought my way up to a sitting position. He moved with me and we ground ourselves into each other. In this new upright position, he penetrated me even deeper and I groaned with each thrust.

Alec turned his attention to my breasts, sucking the tips until they ached. I buried my face in his chest as I came again, nipping at his skin with my teeth. He climaxed as well, back arching, whole body shuddering as every muscle tightened. A wave of heat emanated from his body, almost blistering in its strength. The only thing hotter would have been sitting inside a furnace blasting at full capacity.

The excessive heat brought me out of my orgasm a bit and I realized that Alec wasn’t just hot, he was on fire. I scrambled away from him as I watched his skin char and peel away, revealing a magma glow underneath. Dark wings sprouted from his back, casting the world in shadow.

“Alec?” I asked.

The burning husk of the man I’d known as Alec turned toward me and then reached a hand out as if to touch me. I stumbled backward, pressing myself into the nearest stone as more of Alec burned away.

I wanted to call out to him again, wanted to know if he was okay, but I stayed silent. That kind of heat could kill me. Hopefully, with Alec being a dragon, the spontaneous combustion was a good sign.

Gathering my wits somewhat, I sought out the voice, giving it a mental jab. What’s going on?

The voice was there, I could sense its presence, but it refused to respond. I turned to the energy around me, scoping out the vibe. It wasn’t as accurate as the voice, but the ability remained wholly within my control. The air within the stone circle had grown hot enough to glimmer, but I sensed no malice or danger. While the heat brought sweat to my brow, I could still breathe and I wasn’t on fire myself.

Alec was still burning, but also growing up and up until he loomed over me. His shadow grew so long, it swallowed me and then the circle. Flames licked at the edges of his body, snapping and crackling, but burning what I couldn’t tell.

His neck lengthened, thick as an overfed anaconda, while his head completely changed shape. A snout had blossomed on his face, and his coppery eyes were set apart on his wide head. As for the rest of him, his arms had retracted into small reptilian claws, his legs and feet became haunches. Dark scales erupted over his skin in a wave of blue fire.

With one last crackle, the fire died and before me stood a dragon.

We stared at each other for a long moment. I didn’t disbelieve the transformation, but I was hesitant to touch him lest he burn me. As for Alec, he appeared to be in shock. After two hundred years, he must’ve wondered if this moment would ever come. He kept leaning over and looking at his feet or twisting around to catch a glimpse of his wings, which he flapped experimentally.

They stretched out longer than he was tall and scraped the top of the stones around us as he flexed them back and forth.  He stepped outside of the circle, his movement heavy and lumbering. With one swift movement of his wings, he left the earth behind.

In awe of his sheer size and enormous grace, I watched him ascend. The sun gave him the glint of a new copper penny. He moved in the air like a dancer commands the stage. His wings arced in graceful lines over his shoulders and his body was sleek as a spear. Spiraling, higher and higher, I feared he might try to make like Icarus and touch the sun, but instead he spun around so his head was aimed at the earth. Folding his wings along his back, he hurtled downward with increasing speed.

“No!” I couldn’t keep myself from crying out, afraid he would crash.

I didn’t understand dragons, as it turned out. They have the capabilities of a jet fighter. As a kid, I’d seen them fly at an air show. They did the same dive as Alec, even pulling up short right at the tree line. Alec had the same fine tuned control. When it seemed too late to prevent a collision, he threw out his wings and caught the air rushing around him.

Then he soared up again, followed by another dive. He did this several times before gently landing outside the stone circle. The air around him shimmered like a mirage in the Sahara and the dragon collapsed, replaced by Alec in the blink of an eye.

He gave me a broad grin and I ran to him, throwing my arms around his shoulders. “You’re free. The curse is broken.” I said.

Alec swung me around. “Aye, that it is.” Setting me back on the ground, he said, “You’ll be next, just as soon as Malcolm is back.”

My lips split in a grin almost as big as his. The idea of not being burdened with the voice made me giddy. I could settle down. I could love Alec. I froze, my smile fading as a thought struck me: Maybe that vision of me with Alec in the future was one in which the voice and I had parted ways?

“What is it?” Alec asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just hoping you’re right.” I squeezed him tight. My very own dragon. I couldn’t believe it. “Now what do we do?”

“Go get Malcolm. You remember the address?” He handed me my clothes and then pulled on his.

“Yeah, but aren’t we going to fly?” I frowned at him, confused.

“Aye, lass, but not as a dragon. We need to go faster than that.”

From the stone circle, we went to the castle where Alec briefly conferred with his brothers. Both Gavin and Niall were disappointed to be left behind, but the curse gave them no choice. From the castle, we hopped on Alec’s bike and drove into town where he withdrew some cash from the bank. The last stop was the airport and we booked the first flight to London.

For once, I wasn’t running, I was chasing. Now the bad guys had to be afraid of me. The witches better watch out because dragons had my back.

Chapter Six

Alec’s face went white as the plane took off from Heathrow, the aircraft angling East toward New York. I slipped my hand under his, breaking his death grip on the arm rest. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of flying?”

“Not when I’m the one flying.”  He attempted a smile, but a muscle in his jaw twitched, giving away his anxiety.

“Don’t think about it,” I advised.

“What should I think about then?” Alec leaned in and gave me a lingering kiss. “Mayhap we should busy ourselves with more pleasant pastimes?”

I pushed him back into his seat. “Well, as enticing as that offer is, we should probably come up with a plan.”

He frowned. “A plan? We find Malcolm, I burn everything down. It’s that simple.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, Alec. New York is a compact city. Any fire you start might hurt more than the witches.”

Alec’s eyes narrowed as he considered my words. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

I pulled out my phone and brought up the map of Manhattan I’d downloaded earlier. “They’re somewhere over here.” I pulled up the street view and pointed to a warehouse district on the fringes of the city.

Alec squinted at the screen. “Looks unguarded. There’s no people about.”

“Don’t forget they have magic that didn’t even blink at your curse. They probably don’t need guards. We should be careful.”

He shrugged, unimpressed. “They have magic, but I have dragon fire. I will do what needs doing to save my brother.”

I squeezed his hand. “You’re a loyal man.”

“It’s the dragon in me. I can’t be anything less.” He blanched as the plane hit turbulence and shuddered around us.

I tugged on his hand, drawing his attention back to me. “I’ve been wondering something.”

“What? Ask quick before this metal death trap crashes into the ocean.” He spoke loud enough for the people around us to shoot questioning looks our way.

I smiled at everyone as nicely as I could. “It’s his first time on a plane,” I said.

A frail woman with hair white as snow and wrinkles carving deep folds on her face, passed a little bottle of Scotch across the aisle. “This will do him good, lass. Give it to him.”

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the booze and passing it over to Alec.

Alec leaned forward and saluted the woman. “You’re a right bonny lass, m’am.”

Her pale skin flushed pink at Alec’s compliment and she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “No trouble at all, lad.”  She produced another bottle from her purse and raised it up high. “To courage.”

“Courage,” Alec echoed along with a few other people who, apparently, had their own stash of booze handy.

We settled back in our seats then, and while Alec twisted open the Scotch, I returned to the question I’d intended to ask before we’d been interrupted. The booze would help, but I also thought it wise to keep Alec distracted and too busy to worry about crashing. The buzz from that little bottle wouldn’t last more than twenty minutes. “Why don’t you wear plaid kilts like other Scotsmen?”

Alec paused, Scotch halfway to his mouth. “When the curse was cast over us, we were disavowed. We’d shamed the dragon race, you see. Until we break the bonds of magic that imprison us, we wear the black of mourning. We donna want to take lightly all that was lost, for both ourselves and those who died for no reason.”

“They really kicked you out?” I asked, shocked. “So much for dragon loyalty, eh?”

Alec took a sip of Scotch and said, “Nay, dragons are loyal to the end, but if they’d still claimed us as clan after what happened, the Fairy Queen might have thought them complicit in the trap that caught my brothers and me. You see, for a long time, the fair folk refused to believe we’d been tricked. They accused us, all the dragons, of attempting a coup.”

“So the other dragons had to cut you off for the sake of appearances.”

“Aye. It was politics.”

“Some things never change.” I crossed my arms and gave a disapproving ‘harrumph.’

He nodded in agreement as he tipped more booze down his throat.

“What happened to the other dragons?”

Alec lifted one shoulder in a shrug as he finished the last of the Scotch. “I donna know. I havna seen any in a verra long time.”

“Did they leave?”

“Mayhap, but I suspect they probably died.”

My eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”

“Och, aye, lass. I wouldna jest with you. Dragons live a long time, but not forever. For a time, we saw our brethren cross the sky at least once a week. Then it was once month. Then we were lucky to see one in a year, and now, we have seen none in several decades.”

“Are you the last dragons?”

His expression grew somber. “Tis a possibility.”

I worried my bottom lip, trying to puzzle out the math. “But how have you lived so long?”

He thumped his chest. “Apparently curses such as mine are good for your health. I told you, lass, we are frozen in time and place until our maidens come.”

The flight smoothed out after that and Alec relaxed, his earlier anxiety dissipating. We leaned against each other, stealing kisses and passing the time with small talk. If I hadn’t known better, we could have been on our honeymoon. Alec was tender and sweet with me, covering me with a blanket, making sure I was warm and offering me his shoulder to rest my head on. The voice remained silent, and for a little while, I pretended we were a regular couple without any magic meddling in our lives. For that small amount of time, I let my heart run free, knowing sooner or later I would have to cage it again.

Chapter Seven

In New York, we wended our way through customs and the airport to a taxi that delivered us to our destination. With an empty parking lot cratered with deep potholes and weeds growing all over the place, the warehouse had an abandoned air, but it was the address the voice had shown me.

“What do you think?” Alec asked as we crept closer to the chain link fence ringing the property.

I opened myself to the energy around me and gasped as it swarmed over me. “Evil,” I said. “We can’t see them, but they’re here.”

“Do they know we’re out here?”

“Not yet.” I concentrated, prodding the voice to do its job. A quick vision flashed. “They’re headed underground in a little bit. They have some kind of underground lair. We can get Malcolm then. He’s on the first floor.”

Alec drew me back into the shadows of a thin, but tall bush. “Let’s wait here then. When the time comes, we’ll go right in the front door. I’ll lead and knock out anyone who might be there, okay?” He flexed his fingers and then contracted his hands into fists.

“Sure,” I said, feeling sorry for whoever was going to meet Alec’s knuckles with their face.

When it was time to go, Alec broke the chain lock on the fence with a deft twist of his wrist. At my shocked expression he said, “Dragons are really strong.”

“Good to know. Thanks.”

He opened the fence. “Follow me.”

We crept forward, staying in the shadows. The door to the warehouse wasn’t locked. Alec gripped the handled and said, “On three, we go in. Hang back just in case.”

At my nod, he mouthed ‘one, two, three’ and yanked the door open. There was a brief scuffle that I couldn’t see, but I heard the shuffle of feet and the grunt of someone taking a hit. Breathing heavily, Alec came back for me. “All clear.”

I followed him inside where I took the lead as I was the only one who knew where Malcolm was being held. Other than a small lamp on a desk at the entrance, there were no lights inside.

“I can’t see,” I whispered.

“Here.” A fireball flashed into existence, levitating over Alec’s palm. “Will this do?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

We walked to the other end of the building, the wide, open floor plan raising the hair on the back of my neck. Someone could be in a dark corner and we would never know. Still, when I reigned in my paranoia and took a second to actually feel the vibe of the place, it registered as empty. Any energy I sensed came from me and Alec or pinged faintly from under my feet.  Odd that I didn’t catch Malcolm’s presence. He should have registered somewhere ahead of us. I focused on where I knew he was, searching for him, but it was like trying to catch wind.

“I think he might be warded or something,” I whispered to Alec. “I can’t really feel him even though I know where he is. Something’s not right.”

“We’ll find a way,” rumbled Alec, his Scottish accent rough with determination.

When we arrived at the row of offices at the back of the building, I sought out the one I’d seen in my vision. It was the fourth door. I counted them off silently and then put my hand on the doorknob. This was it, the moment of truth. I expected to be shocked or zapped if there was magic locking the room down, but nothing happened and the doorknob turned easily.

The real menace became apparent once we stepped inside the room. Malcolm was there. My vision had been correct, but incomplete. It hadn’t shown me the witches. There were three of them, eyes glittering full of magic and little triumphant smiles on their pinched faces. They’d known we were coming and somehow hidden from me.

I immediately tried to reverse my direction, but it was too late. Not only did I run smack into Alec, the door slammed shut behind us. My intuition told me I wouldn’t be able to open it again anytime soon.

It had been a trap and the voice had told me nothing. Alec brushed past me, moving in front to shield me from the witches. I searched for the voice and found it silent.

“What’s going on?” I muttered to myself. The voice had spent years saving me, why not now?

“I’ve come for my brother,” Alec said, his voice ringing with authority.

“You can have him, just leave the girl,” said one of the witches. She was tall and thin as a reed with an angular face. Her dark eyes flashed at us, full of victory.

Alec ignored her and crossed over to where Malcolm lay on a small cot. He groaned when Alec shook his shoulder.

While everyone was watching Alec, I took a moment to try the door, but it wasn’t budging and the witches had known it. One of them, a short, chubby blonde, shook their head and rolled her eyes as if disappointed to find I was so dumb as to think they wouldn’t have the door covered.

Ignoring her, I focused inward with increasing desperation. All I’d ever wanted was for the voice to leave me alone, but if I was truly free of it, the timing really sucked.

I strained and caught the faintest echo of the voice in my mind. There, but not there. Like  something was between us, keeping us apart. I looked back at Malcolm. I’d had a tough time feeling him, too. And I hadn’t sensed the witches at all.

Which meant, they’d blocked me somehow. Probably with magic I would kill to have. I narrowed my eyes at the witches wondering if I could beat the spell out of them. I’d never really believed in magic until it took over my life. I’d also been a proponent of pacifism, abhorring war and other violence. Thanks to the voice, though, I’d changed. I was all about the hocus-pocus and fists-of-fury these days. Anything to survive.

While I was messing with the door, Alec had managed to rouse Malcolm to the point of sitting up. He was groggy, but his eyes were open. He recognized me. “Sara.”

“You okay, Malcolm?”

“You shouldna be here. Tis a trap.”

“I noticed,” I said.

Alec helped Malcolm stand, supporting most of his brother’s weight with one shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Where? You’re locked in here until we say otherwise.” The tall, thin witch gave a smug smile. To me she said, “You’re finally ours and we’re not letting you go so easily.”

Now Alec was the one rolling his eyes at his opponent’s stupidity. The only problem? I didn’t follow what mistake they’d made. I’d tried the door, it wasn’t going to open. As far as I could tell, the witches were right and we were all at their mercy, with me being the prize catch.

I’d forgotten about Alec’s fire, though. And I’d underestimated him.

He threw back his head and opened his mouth wide. A line of flame raced for the door. It hit the wood and ignited in a crackle of red. I stepped further into the room, not wanting to catch fire myself. The air became hot and heavy as the fire used up oxygen, but the door held.

I shot Alec a worried look, but he didn’t seem concerned. Sucking in a deep breath, he blew out more fire, this time going for the wall. It was ablaze within seconds and whatever spell was on the door didn’t extend to the rest of the room. The dry wall crumbled and fell away in chunks, revealing the wooden studs underneath.

The witches began to chant. What I didn’t know, but it probably wasn’t good news for us.

“Come on,” I yelled, stepping between the studs to escape the room. The room was still very much ablaze, but I would rather stop-drop-and-roll than become property of some deranged witch coven.

Alec dragged Malcolm forward, pausing only to break the studs to make room for their combined bulk to pass. The witches made to follow us, but Alec turned back and lobbed fireballs at them with his free hand. Whatever spells they’d cast, they hadn’t thought to fireproof anything, including themselves. Their robes started to burn, which kept them too busy trying not to die to bother with us.

“Let’s go,” Alec roared, rushing past me.

We all scrambled to leave the building. Alec threw more fireballs, setting the entire warehouse on fire. We burst through the door and into the night. I took deep breaths, enjoying the coolness of the air.

With a snap, the voice came back, stinging me like a rubber band. I grit my teeth and muttered some choice words. The damn thing was shooting sparks through my nerves a lot like the original lightning strike. Off to my side, Alec began to yell. With some effort, I turned my head and saw…Alec unhurt but very angry. A dark scowl furrowed his face and his eyes flashed a mix of yellow and gold as if they might start shooting fire any second. It took me a moment to figure out what had upset him.

Malcolm was gone.

Again.

“How?” I threw up my hands, thoroughly annoyed by his disappearance. Once was an accident, twice just made me paranoid.

Alec’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. Maybe we broke the spell and he went back.”

I worried my bottom lip as I considered that theory. “Or they blocked the curse in the building, same as they blocked me. Once he was out here it went back into effect.”

“Can you find him, lass?”

“I can try.” Hearing a lot of noise behind us, I looked over my shoulder and saw witches spilling out of the building, dark and fiery as demons. I saw hair on fire, the affected witches clutching their heads and screaming. Others had flames licking the hems of their black robes. Several of them were headed my way, malice shining in their eyes. “But we’d better deal with them first.”

Alec didn’t respond, but he did begin to shift, bringing out his dragon. This time the transformation came faster, taking just a few seconds. Most of the witches stopped at his unexpected appearance, but a few kept coming. I widened my stance and prepared myself. If they used magic I was out of luck, so I would just have to make sure they didn’t have time. Leaning down I scooped up a handful of small stones and threw them at the closest witch, aiming right for her eyes.

She flinched, but kept coming. I braced myself for impact as she barreled into me. I fell back, unable to withstand her forward momentum. The ground slammed into my spine, sharp bits of gravel digging into my skin through my shirt. All the air left my lungs in one big whoosh and I struggled to breathe as the witch began to chant under her breath.

Alec had finished his shift and shot flames at the witches at a machine-gun pace, but I needed him to help me. I was in trouble. Magic gathered in the air, sniffing at me and preparing to strike.  Clawing at the witch’s face, I tried to wiggle out from under her, but it took enormous effort to move, like I was pushing through molasses. Unseen weight pressed down on me, pinning me to the ground.

Just in case I didn’t have enough problems, the future shoved its way into the action, opening up in my mind like one of those amusement park rides that drops you from the top of a tower. I had to close my eyes or risk throwing up from the dissonance of my physical reality and the metaphysical one. The movie screen popped up again and the voice spoke with the authority of thunder. This witch is important. You have to save her.

Why? I asked. Since when did the voice care about saving anyone other than me?

She is a maiden.

Well, shit. In that case, I need to get her to Scotland ASAP.

No, said the voice.

No what? Save her, don’t save her, just make up your mind. I don’t have a lot of time here. In the physical realm, my body had frozen on the ground, but the weight of the witch continued to rest on my stomach. It hurt, but I couldn’t do anything about it.

Save her, but leave her behind. She’s not ready for Scotland. She’s still evil.

You expect that to change? Are you sure she’s a maiden? Would the dragons really be interested in a wicked witch? And should I really help her? As usual, the voice talked, but never managed to say anything meaningful.

The movie screen sped up then and I got the gist of the witch’s future. She needed to find a new path and tonight was the start of that journey. The witches had led her astray, but she would be worthy of her dragon if I could buy her the time she needed.

The movie screen disappeared after that and the voice fell silent. I opened my eyes, I could move at least that much, and strained to catch sight of Alec. From the corner of my eye, I could see he had dealt with all the witches except for my attacker. Motionless lumps of black dotted the parking lot, most of them covered in crackling fire.

Victory still was not ours, though. While I’d been caught up in the future, the witch on top of me had lodged a sharp knife at my throat in the present. Her other hand, she held out to Alec, palm up as if she were a cop directing traffic.

“Don’t move or she’ll bleed to death.” She dug the knife into my skin.

I held very, very still and tried to figure out my next move. So much for Alec saving me. He could only do that at the expense of his brothers and I couldn’t do that to him.  It was up to me to figure this one out.

“Let her go, witch,” Alec said, his voice distorted in dragon form. The Scottish accent was lost to a deep guttural tone. “Or I’ll burn you to ash.”

“You do that and she won’t be nothing but a bloodless corpse.”

I tried to talk, but my throat wouldn’t work, whether from the spell or fear of the knife I couldn’t tell. Gritting my teeth, I tried again and managed to squeeze out, “We need to talk.”

The witch looked at me, surprise mixing with derision on her face. She was pretty enough, with auburn hair and pale green eyes. Her mouth formed a generous rosebud and her figure was all soft curves, the kind men liked to conquer. Whichever dragon was hers would fall hard for her…if she lived long enough to be his maiden.

“About what?” asked the witch.

“Your future.”

“See something, did you?” Pulling the knife back a bit, she said, “Go ahead. I’ve heard about your power, but this will be the first I’ve ever seen it. I have to say I’m curious.”

“This isn’t your path. You’re not going to kill me,” I said. “Not unless you want to die, too.”

The edge of the knife slid into my neck again. “You’re my insurance policy. The reason why the dragon over there isn’t going to light me up like a firework.”

“Listen to me.” I stared hard into her eyes, trying to impress her with the truth of what I was about to say. “You need to live. I don’t want you to die. You’re meant to do something other than this. Let me go and leave. I’ll handle the dragon. He won’t touch you.”

“He burned my sisters,” she said with a sniff.

“They weren’t your sisters.” I caught a snippet of a vision. A flash that strobed in my mind’s eye. There and then gone and this time a future that never would be. A first for me. Would the wonders of the voice never cease?

“You were new, right?” At her nod, I continued, drawing on what I’d seen. “They were going to sacrifice you at the next ritual. You were just a blood offering to them. Don’t call them sisters.”  I wondered, when she saw me again, if I would be considered a sister? Would we be that close? Was the happy ending I’d glimpsed in my vision really going to happen?

Yes, the voice assured me just as the witch lifted the knife off my neck.

“How do I know you’re telling you’re telling the truth?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Believe me, don’t believe me, but know this is your one chance to live. If you don’t take it, he,” I pointed to Alec with my chin, “will come for you. Choose wisely, witch.”

She swallowed hard, but stood and backed away from me. Snapping her fingers she murmured something under her breath. The heaviness pinning me down dissipated and I could move freely again. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the fact that my limbs were all numb.

As for the witch, she looked shell-shocked and much younger than I realized. I imagined she had no idea what she was signing up for when she joined the coven. Perhaps they had even conned her into joining. I could see the witches scooping up vulnerable runaways. Homeless kids would make the perfect sacrifice, no one would notice when they went missing.

“It’ll be okay,” I said to her, my voice gentle. “You made a mistake, but now you get to fix it.” I waved to the smoldering remains of the other witches. “You were chosen for a special fate, one none of them deserved. Don’t waste it.”

Alec moved to go for her, not understanding what was happening between us. I held up my hand to stop him. “Let her go. It doesn’t end here for her.” He gave me a questioning look, which in dragons, manifested as raising the eyebrows almost as high as his ears. His copper tinged eyes met mine, probing. I held firm and motioned for the witch to go. She didn’t hesitate, and with a snap of her fingers and a few muttered words she disappeared, gone as if she’d never been.

“Don’t worry, she’s not going to bother us,” I said at Alec’s perplexed expression. He’d drawn up his eyebrows until they almost made a teepee over his nose.

“Malcolm,” he said.

I nodded and closed my eyes. “Let me see what I can do.” I didn’t poke at the voice this time, I was done playing. Instead, I rattled it, hard. It rose up in me, agitated and flustered.

Where’s Malcolm?

Snaking its way through my nervous system, the voice murmured something too low for me to hear. Then it laughed, a high shrieking sound that made me wince. Every muscle in my body tensed as I tried to rein in the voice’s power. It fought me, thrashing until I dropped to my knees, but I didn’t let it win. The voice was part of me and it couldn’t get away from me, not when I was this determined.

Show me Malcolm or I swear I’ll figure out that witch’s spell and you’ll be on mute as long as I live.

That stunned the voice into silence, and after a moment, it finally gave me what I wanted. Opening my eyes, I said, “Malcolm is fine. He’s back at the castle.”

Alec’s eyebrows relaxed as he took in the news. “Thank the gods,” he said casting his words skyward.

Locating his wallet on the asphalt, I scooped it up. Then, pointing to what remained of his clothing, “I think the only problem now is that you have no clothes.”

He chuckled, the sound low and deep in his enormous chest. Then leaning down, he carefully wrapped one claw around me and lifted me up. I gasped as I went airborne. I trusted him, I did, but I also didn’t relish the idea of my legs dangling from twenty feet in the air. Alec gently transferred me to his back.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he said, his voice rumbling like an earthquake. “Somewhere special.”

“Where is that?” I asked, sinking into the smooth warmth that made up his skin.

“In the north there are hot springs. Dragons have gone there for centuries with their maidens.”

“Do you know how to get there? I thought you hadn’t been here before.”

“Aye, I do.” He looked to the skyline, taking in the city lights that twinkled in the dark. “I havena seen this place in the modern era, but we dragons have flown the world, mapping it out long before humans did.”

Off in the distance, thunder boomed and lightning flickered, drawing our attention.

Alec craned his neck so that one large eye could meet my gaze. “You okay to fly?”

I watched the storm for a moment. It was a small thunder cell, nothing like the one that had brought the voice or taken Malcolm. “I’m good. I don’t think that storm is looking for me.”

Alec nodded and with one flap of his wings, we were airborne, flying off to a place only dragons knew how to find.

Chapter Eight

Iceland. I was in friggin’ Iceland and wearing a tiny bikini, although Alec kept trying to peel it off me. He didn’t even bother with a swimsuit and was doing a good job convincing me I should do the same. By which, I meant, he kept slipping fingers under the fabric and stroking my nipples or the juicy cleft between my legs.

We had a suite at a swanky hotel, but we avoided the hot springs there because of all the tourists. Besides, Alec knew of better places to swim. Every morning after breakfast, we collected a basket of food from the hotel kitchen, and then Alec led me outside, far enough away that no one would see him shift. Once he changed, he would set me on his back, and clutching the picnic basket in one claw, he flew me to remote hot springs surrounded by rocks and blue sky.

It was heaven.

Although, despite it being summer, Iceland was colder than I would’ve expected.

Without the pressure of having to save Malcolm, we could slow down and savor each other. I’d been so uncertain when we first met, but now I knew, without a doubt, that I was in love with Alec. From the way he looked at me, I could tell he felt the same way. There was a soft, golden gleam in his eyes and the corners of his mouth would quirk up in a half smile whenever he saw me. It was a smile he gave to no one else, one meant only for me.

“Shouldn’t we head back to Scotland?” I’d asked when we first arrived. It had been dark then and I’d had no idea where we were. We could have flown to another planet for all I’d known.

“I’ll call and check on things at home, but you and I need this time, lass. We deserve to know each other without danger at our door.”

I’d been a bit leery of playing hooky, no matter how fun. I felt pressure to hurry back to Scotland and make sure Malcolm was okay as well as ask if he could use some of his magic to either get rid of the voice or contain it so it would stop running my life. When I took the pulse of the energy around me, though, it was serene and smooth. As for the voice, it had gone dormant. Perhaps it was taking a breather, too.

And when Alec called his brothers, we learned our suspicions had been correct. The witches had interrupted, but not broken the curse. Once we did away with their magic, the spell reversed and deposited Malcolm back on top of the castle turret, in the very spot he’d disappeared. He was fine, if a little shaken up, and already trying to puzzle out their spell for me to use.

Alec was probably right, we should enjoy ourselves, but I’d lived on the edge so long, I couldn’t relax. I kept wanting to run.

“What was the story with that witch you saved?” Alec asked me one morning as he waded into the frothy, bubbling water of the hot spring.

I followed him into the water, relishing the heat that immediately soaked my skin. The summer air here ran cool. “She has a future that matters. If you’d killed her, there would have been problems down the line.”

I’d decided not to tell him all of what I’d seen. I could only imagine how he would hunt the witch down and deliver her to his brothers. Not only did I want to avoid tempting him, I also wanted to be careful about openly using my unwanted power. Honesty had caused me no end of trouble. This time, I vowed to err on the side of discretion.

“Is that all you’re going to tell me?” He caught me in his arms and forced me to meet his eyes.

I didn’t blink and regarded him calmly. “Yes.”

“I donna like secrets,” he said, his voice gruff.

“I’m not keeping secrets,” I said. “Her future doesn’t belong to either of us. It’s none of our business.”

“Well, at least you are my business,” he said, lowering his head until our mouths met. Our lips collided and I shivered as he sucked on my bottom lip. Taking a breath, he said, “Someday you will trust me with everything, Sara. I will prove myself worthy.”

I put a finger to his lips, keeping him from kissing me again. “You’re already worthy, Alec. This isn’t about trust, it’s about what’s right. I’m yours, but this power I have isn’t. It doesn’t even belong to me.”

“Just don’t hide too much from me, lass. I’m your other half now. Lean on me, let me protect you. You’re not alone anymore.”

I cupped his face in my hand. “Thank you. And you’re not alone anymore either.”

He snorted. “What are my brothers? Chopped liver?”

“No, but they aren’t your maiden now, are they? They aren’t me.” I raised my chin, daring him to disagree.

“Aye, well that’s true enough.” He squeezed me close and his lips found mine again. This kiss was more serious than the first. His teeth nipped at the full flesh of my bottom lip and his tongue stroked mine. His hands went to the knot holding my bikini in place and I didn’t stop him.

Now that I thought about it, clothes really did just get in the way. I needed to feel Alec’s skin on mine without any barriers. I even resented the hot spring when its hot and steamy wetness flooded between us.

Alec removed my bikini top and tossed it onto the rocky shore behind me. Hooking his fingers on either side of the bikini bottom, he pulled, ripping the fabric away.

“Hey,” I protested.

“Donna worry, I packed an extra in the picnic basket. You won’t be naked going back to the hotel.”

I playfully swatted his shoulder. “Just how many bathing suits do you plan on buying?”

“As many as it takes,” he said, his expression serious. “And I hope it takes a lot.”

“Do all dragons have a one track mind?” I asked, gasping a bit as his fingers slipped inside the slick folds between my legs.

“When it comes to their maidens, they donna think of anything else.” He thrust a finger into me. “And one thing not many people know about dragons is they can hold their breath for a long time.”

“Oh really?” I moaned the words, doing my best to show interest in random dragon factoids, but Alec’s fingers were doing sinful things to me. This was not a good time for conversation, my focus was on how Alec would touch me next.

“Let me show you.” He dove under water, hands spreading my knees wide as his mouth found my core.

My eyes widened. Perhaps that factoid hadn’t been so random after all.

Alec stayed underwater, anchoring himself with his hands on my hips as his tongue played over my flesh, hard then soft, fast then slow. He used the spring water in a truly wicked manner, flushing it over my most sensitive spots with merciless pressure.

Once again, his fingers found their way into my wet passage and rubbed. I arched, almost falling back into the water and screamed as an orgasm rocked my body.

He lingered underwater for a bit longer, tickling my throbbing core with flicks of his tongue and wringing every last bit of pleasure from my body. The climax pulsed through me, driven by Alec’s fingers and mouth. Finally, when the orgasm had faded to the faintest echo, he came up for air.

Damn. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

This gave me all sorts of interesting ideas about Loch Ness, which wasn’t all that far from his castle. I was almost grateful to the voice for bringing us together. Alec was the first good thing to come of its power. My only worry was whether he would be left to die like my parents. How much would Alec suffer because of me? Was I safe for good, or was this just a pit-stop before the next kidnapping attempt? I wished I could see that much of the future, so I would know for sure, but that was not how the voice worked.

“You’re frowning,” Alec said, running a gentle finger over my brow. “That wasna what I was going for.”

“Sorry,” I said, flushing. “I was just thinking this is too good to be true.”

He nodded. “I know that feeling. We will just have to prove to each other that we are real and not going anywhere.” His hands went to my hips and pulled me forward. “Starting now.”

His hard shaft poked my stomach and I reached down to wrap my hand around him. “This is real.”

“So is this.” He leaned down and captured one of my nipples in his mouth, sucking hard. I had to grip his shoulder with my free hand, afraid I would fall otherwise. My body went slack with sensation. The scrub of his five o’ clock shadow, the thin edges of his teeth and the insistent thrashing of his tongue all conspired to rob me of control. Not that I minded.

He peeled my hand off his shaft and lifted me up. Moving on instinct, I wrapped my legs around his waist, allowing him to slide home. I convulsed as he filled me, every muscle straining to take more of him. He had yet to touch my other nipple, but it stiffened as if he had.

“Alec,” I gasped as he began to move in and out.

“Aye, lass.”

I couldn’t speak so I ground my hips into him instead, letting my body take over.

“You like this or should I stop?” He went still and my fingers reflexively dug into his back, urging him on.

“Take me, dragon.”

“Aye, that I will, maiden. Many times.” He resumed moving and took the other nipple in his mouth, the tip so hard I was sure I couldn’t take much more. Alec flattened his tongue over my breast, pressing into my flesh and easing the tension. Why I don’t know, because the second my body relaxed, he wasted no time winding it tight again. He lashed his tongue over the sensitive tip and nipped at it, using more force than he had before.

I moaned, grinding into him, needing all of him. I couldn’t stand it. Every nerve was alight with searing pleasure. There was too much energy crowding my nervous system, and needing an outlet, I planted my teeth in his shoulder to release it.

Alec grunted as I bit him and he thrust into me with matching intensity. Our love making became rough and wild, as if we wanted to consume each other. I sank my teeth into him again. He repaid me in kind, marking the flesh around my nipple.  I raked my nails along his back as he shoved me against the rocks, holding me in place as he took me with increasing force.

I loved it. All of it. The sting of his love bite throbbing in my breast. The rocks scraping my flesh. Alec’s strength holding me down, keeping me in place so he could bury himself in me.

The bond between us flared to life, strong and sure. We’d been born for each other. Across space and time, against all odds, we’d found one another. I was supposed to be here with Alec, letting him take me in an Icelandic hot spring. The voice didn’t have to speak, I could feel the moment was ordained by whatever magic governed true love. The stones had sung the day we first joined, and in the spring, I heard the ringing of bells.

“I love you Alec,” I said, throwing my head back and howling the words.

He held me even tighter. “And I love you, maiden mine.”

We both came with harsh yells, his a low growl, mine high and keening. And then we were silent, the spring bubbling and frothing around us, all stirred up. Alec leaned his weight into me as I rested against him. We were one.

Chapter Nine

We flew back to Scotland, leaving at midnight to hide Alec’s dragon form from human eyes. It had been hard to leave the springs, but I knew it was time. I could feel the energy calling me and the voice stirring in my gut. The voice wasn’t talking, not yet, but it was more aware than it had been. We’d had a respite, nothing more. It was time to re-enter the real world and face whatever waited for us there.

I hoped it was good news.

Also, I missed my cupcake shop. My fingers itched to bake again. All this adventure had left me craving the orderly flow of a recipe. I especially wanted to make Alec some cupcakes.

All the brothers were there to greet us when Alec landed on the turret. When he set me on the ground, the three men rushed to hug me. Niall with his shock of orange hair and crooked smile hugged me without abandon.

“Nice to see you’re in one piece, lass” he said. “I’ve been minding your shop for you.”

“You have?” I looked at him, surprised.

“Aye. I needed something to keep me from losing my mind with worry.” His mouth turned down in a frown. “I’m afraid I havena the touch to make cupcakes though.”

“Well, maybe you can make cookies for the shop,” I said, giving him a squeeze. “Because you certainly have the touch for those.”

His eyes widened as he considered the idea, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything as Malcolm elbowed him out of the way. His dark eyes took me in, scanning me from head to toe. “You’re all right then, lass? I know Alec said you were, but I’d like to hear it with my own ears and see it for myself.”

“Yes,” I said, touched by his concern. “It was a near thing, but we’re both okay. How are you?”

He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Better than I would be if you two hadn’t rescued me. Thank you for that.”

“It was all my fault,” I said. “The least I could do was try to keep you from suffering a fate meant for me.”

“I’ve been researching your sight,” he said. “I don’t think you can get rid of it, it’s part of you now, but I can help you control it. Box it into a corner, so to speak, and learn to use it instead of it using you.”

“That sounds great,” I said feeling a bit giddy at the news. Even half free would be a huge improvement.

“I’m working on a charm that will cloak you, too. Something to keep people from finding you.”

“No one will bother ye again” said Niall.

Malcolm started to say something else, but Gavin shoved him to the side and swept me up into a big bear hug, which, frankly, terrified me. I shrieked. Alec roared while Malcolm and Niall rushed to try and catch their brother, the one who always went too far. He spun away from them, an impish gleam in his eyes.

“Shall I throw you over the edge?” he asked. “See how fast my brother can fly?”

I shoved a knee into his stomach, driving the air from his lungs with a loud ‘oof.’ Fighting to breathe, he very gently set me down and stepped away, choking out, “I’ll take that as a no.”

I glared at the big blond. “Someday your maiden is going to come, Gavin and you’re going to have to be a man, not an asshole.”

He stumbled back, my words seeming to hit him like blows. I saw a raw vulnerability in his face and almost felt bad for what I’d said, but then my resolve stiffened. He needed to hear it. They all did.

I looked at each of the brothers in turn. “Your spell worked, Malcolm. I’ve seen glimpses of its future. I am the first maiden but not the last. The others are coming, in their own time, on their own path. You will be free one day, all of you. The curse will be broken, but,” I raised a warning finger, “be sure you’re worthy of the maiden who comes for you.”  That last bit was more for Gavin than anyone else, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt for the other two to hear it.

Niall’s eyes went wide as an owl’s at my words while Malcolm just blinked at me. Gavin retreated, hovering on the threshold of the stairs leading back down to the castle. He wanted to run.

Alec came to stand next to me, naked and formidable, anger emanating from him in waves of heat. “Are you all right, Sara? Did he hurt you?” He shot his brother a baleful glare.

“Yes, but I’m not so sure he’s okay.” I crossed my arms and watched as Gavin finally turned tail and ran, disappearing down the turret steps. I’d been too much for him, which maybe explained why he was so aggressive with me. I’d seen it before. Some men couldn’t handle a strong woman, couldn’t stop trying to top her.

Oh man, Gavin was in for a world of hurt when his maiden showed up. If he thought I was difficult… I let the thought trail off and just shook my head. Then I stood on my tip toes and kissed Alec on the cheek, so very glad that, out of all the dragons, he was mine.

“We’re home.” A little trill went through me at the word home. I had Alec and my cupcake shop waited. Life was just about perfect.

He wrapped an arm around me. “Aye, that we are.”

“And you’re free.”

“Soon you will be, too, maiden mine.” Alec turned his head and captured my lips in a searing kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes.

One of the two brothers still on the turret cleared their throats. “We’ll leave you two to recover from your journey.” It was Niall and he sounded a little gobsmacked.

“Aye,” chimed in Malcolm, sounding unsure of himself. “Mayhap tomorrow we can discuss the ideas I have about controlling your sight.”

I smiled at both men, infusing the gesture with kindness. “I didn’t mean to spook you guys.”

Malcolm raised his hands. “No offense taken, lass. You spoke the truth and we needed to hear it.”

“We just need to think on it. We’ve been brothers alone for nigh two hundred years. Change is going to be…interesting,” Niall added.

“Well, let me tell you, my brothers, your maiden is worth any sacrifice.” Alec squeezed me tight. “When she comes, you will let nothing stand in your way.”

Gazing up into Alec’s eyes, I watched the copper flame that burned there dance. “And she will love you with all her heart.”

-Fin-

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Kiss the Dragon, in which case, please consider leaving a review. And YES I do plan to write about the other brothers. Be sure to join my mailing list (link below) if you want to know when the next book is out.

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About the Author

NY Times and USA Today Bestselling author Michelle Fox lives in the Midwest with her husband, kids, the occasional exchange student and two, sweetly disobedient dogs. She loves fantasy and romance, which makes writing paranormal romance a natural fit. Occasionally, she goes through a maverick phase and writes contemporary romance. In her spare time, she's been known to shake her bon-bon at Zumba, make spectacular cheesecakes, hoard vintage costume jewelry and eat way too much ice cream (Ben and Jerry’s Karamel Sutra for the win!).

By the Light of the Scottish Moon

By

Red Phoenix

By the Light of the Scottish Moon

Copyright © 2014 by Red Phoenix

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

RedPhoenix69@live.com

Edited by Jennifer Roberts-Hall

Proofed by Becki Wyer

Cover Design by Kim Killion

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dear Paranormal Lovers

Epigraph

Coming Home

The Chosen

Little Lamb

Bryn

The Wolf

Old Wounds

Rebirth

About the Author Red Phoenix

Dear Paranormal Lovers,

I hope you enjoy By the Light of the Scottish Moon, the touching romance of Freya and Bryn. Two lost souls who find each other in the magic and enchantment of Scotland.

If you love this romantic tale, please check out my other work

While By the Light of the Scottish Moon is pure romance, my other paranormals are a combo of romance & EROTICA (18+)

The Keeper of the Wolf Clan & The Keeper Finds Her Mate

Join Layla as she navigates the alluring—but difficult—role of Keeper to four Alpha males.

(contains shifter/human coupling)

His Scottish Pet: Dom of the Ages

Join Ryce Leon, an immortal, as he pleases and teases the women of Scotland with his unique skills.

(contains BDSM scenes)

Varick: The Reckoning

This dark erotic romance proves that love can save the darkest of souls

(contains some blood & violence – these aren’t sweet vamps)

And now, the story of Bryn and Freya… ~ Enjoy, my friends!

He looked up at the moon and let out a long and terrible howl. It felt as if the pain would never end…

Coming Home

Freya McKenna gazed out of the airplane window at the blue ocean below. Even from way up here, she could see the white crest of the waves. She loved that about the ocean—the fact that it was its own force but still influenced by the moon above.

The sky was a dark blue except for a few billowing clouds. It had the look of heaven to her so she turned away, sliding down the window shade in anger.

Why did life have to be so cruel?

A month ago, things were normal before she got the news: “We found something on your scan…”

That something turned out to be stage-four pancreatic cancer which was growing rapidly. She was told to start an aggressive combination of chemo and radiation, but opted out. What was the point? If she was going to die anyway, she might as well pass this life on her own terms, surrounded by the hills of her homeland—the country of her ancestors—the place that called to her soul.

Freya regretted she had no one to share her last weeks with. She was pretty much alone in the world. Her parents had died two years ago in an automobile accident, but both had lived good, long lives and had been spared this terrible end to their dochter. Unfortunately, she only had one brother and he worked for one of the larger law firms in Texas. He was always busy with work or his wife and large brood.

Cameron couldn’t spare the time. However, the sad truth was, they’d grown apart over the years and she wasn’t even sure she liked the person he’d become. She felt no sadness that he couldn’t be there for her now.

Freya looked at a young family across the aisle and sighed, regretting that she’d never had kids of her own. She’d been married once. The man morphed into a total ass after their wedding vows. Being the sole focus of his anger and violence, she quickly determined never to have kids with the loser.

However, it didn’t take long for Freya to realize that if young children didn’t deserve the dunderhead then neither did she. She left her abusive husband and never looked back.

Instead of raising a family, she worked hard at getting her nursing degree and poured herself into caring for patients. They became her friends, and the staff she worked with became her family—her life was complete.

How morbidly funny, Freya thought to herself. She’d spent her life helping dying cancer patients, and now she was one. Life sure had a perverted sense of humor—but at least she could appreciate the irony of it, now that she was finally headed home.

Scotland…that green jewel of the world. Her parents had moved from her homeland when she was just a tiny bairn, so she didn’t remember anything about the place. However, it was a part of her, always had been. If she was going to die, then she wanted to be on Scottish soil. From the dust I was made, I will return to again…

Freya walked off the plane in no particular hurry. She lingered at baggage claim, listening to the Scottish lilt of the other passengers. It was pleasant to see families reconnecting, and to watch lovers unite. Life moved on—even if she would not—and that brought her comfort.

She’d rented a small house in the village of Kilchoan, a charming stone cottage that had been converted from a barn. One of the locals had transformed it into an enchanting getaway, complete with a mature garden to welcome guests and a spiral staircase beckoning them upstairs to the romantic bedroom.

As soon as Freya saw pictures of the place online, she’d known it was where she was meant to die. The cottage called to her as if it had always been her destiny. As soon as she’d secured reservations, she felt a deep sense of peace.

She was no longer afraid of what was to come…

The drive to Kilchoan was long, bumpy and slow, but the countryside was breathtakingly beautiful. Green, low rolling hills, pockets of water, and crumbling remnants of castles seduced her. It was as if time had stopped here while the rest of the world marched on.

Freya laughed in delight, struck by the fact that one could actually believe in fairies and nymphs in this place. The magical feeling the scenery evoked was thrilling!

She didn’t hurry her drive, arriving at the cottage just as the sun set. Pulling into the driveway, Freya took a sharp intake of breath. It was too beautiful—the oranges and purples of the sky reflecting their radiance on the water.

Freya jumped out of the car and stood in humble silence, breathing in the sweet fragrance of the garden as the sun slowly disappeared behind the horizon. She mourned the fact she only had a few of these miracles left to enjoy.

Dragging her heavy suitcases behind her, Freya deposited the lot inside the doorway unopened. She felt far too tired to unpack. Instead, she heeded the irresistible call of the stairs and squealed in childish delight when she saw the large canopy bed. She curled up on it, promising herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes.

She didn’t wake up until midnight. However, it was not dark outside because of the brilliance of a full moon. She went outside and looked up at the sky, shivering from the cold night air. Truly, the moon was an extraordinary thing.

I’m going to miss it. I’m going to miss it all…

The next day, Freya laid out her map and circled all the places she wanted to visit. Even though time was not on her side, she decided her first day should be one of pure exploration—no agendas. She packed a simple lunch, took her allotted pills and headed out.

After hours of driving through the enchanting countryside, she happened on a overgrown dirt road that seemed inviting. She felt a thrill as the road slowly dwindled down to a thin trail, indicating that few people had traveled this way. Her heart beat faster as she followed it, certain she was about to stumble onto some priceless treasure.

Freya actually held her breath as she crested a large hill, pleased when she saw the lonely castle beside a lake.

This is the stuff fairytales are made of!

Parking the car a respectful distance away, she grabbed her picnic basket and made her way towards the castle. There was something enchanting about the ancient fortress, something otherworldly—even dangerous.

As she stepped over the stones that had once made up the castle wall, she wondered how old it was and who had lived within its once protective barricades. She felt the presence of those who were long since dead still lingering in this place. The feeling wasn’t one of fear, but of belonging, and she felt at ease.

One unexpected benefit of dying was that she was no longer concerned about her safety. She set down her basket, and eagerly climbed the crumbling stairs of a turret without a second thought. The stone staircase was covered in debris. Pieces of it dislodged as she gingerly made her way up, echoing as they bounced down to the ground below.

Freya slipped once, almost taking the same tumble as the stones, but she was determined to make it to the top and did not let it stop her. The coldness of the stone and the darkness of the castle added to the otherworldly atmosphere. She felt as if the spirits were guiding her upwards, encouraging her lack of caution.

Small openings in the wall as she made her way up gave glimpses of the spectacular view waiting for her. When she finally neared the top, a sharp pain in her belly doubled her over. She grasped the wall trying to soften her fall as she tumbled down several stairs.

Freya held back the tears as she got on her feet. Common sense demanded she head back down, but she resented that her cancer was trying to steal this moment from her.

“Fuck you!” she growled at her body, forging forward with renewed resolve as she crawled on hands and knees the last few steps. She huddled at the top, waiting to catch her breath.

When the pain finally passed, she pushed herself up and let out a satisfied sigh. The height of the turret gave her an unobstructed view of the entire area. She could appreciate why the castle had been built here. No one would be able to attack without ample warning.

It made her wonder how many battles had been fought here and how many people had died defending it. So much history had been lost… Freya closed her eyes and could almost hear the screams and the sound of fighting down below.

Exhaustion forced her to lie down where she was. Although she was determined to stay awake, she felt herself drifting off. Swirls of unfamiliar images flooded her mind and she let them carry her away, imagining she was a part of the castle staff—a young man, a soldier of the castle.

I stand with pride at my watch. It is my duty to protect, and I am fully prepared to die to guarantee my Lord’s safety. However, it is not just for him I am fighting. I also protect a young woman, the girl I plan to marry. I would die a million deaths for her.

I spot an invading army on the horizon and warn the castle inhabitants. They rush about below me, preparing to defend it, but everyone is in a jovial mood. The opposing army is comprised of only a handful of men compared to the multitudes housed within the walls of our castle.

“We will go out and meet them,” my officer commands.

With pleasure I ride out with the others, laughing inwardly at the invading force standing before me. The men aren’t even on horses, and don’t stand a chance against us.

As we ride up, a tall man of impressive stature advises our army, “Surrender now or I promise every person here will die. Not one of yer kind will remain.”

“Who dares to threaten Lord Graham?” my commanding officer demands.

“Who we are does not concern ye.”

Our commander is obviously angered by their lack of respect and barks, “Leave now before I lose patience with ye and yer lot.”

“This is yer last warning,” the other man states coldly. “Either surrender now or die.”

I notice an unnatural glow coming from the eyes of the opposing army. It sends shivers down my spine. There is something unnatural about these men, something terrifying.

For the first time fear sets in our troop where before there had been only arrogance.

My commander pulls out his sword in answer. “The only blood that will be spilled today shall be yers.”

The small band of men grin at each other and then begin ripping off their clothes. I realize now they must be crazy and pull out my sword, ready to put them out of their misery.

It will be a slaughter…

The Chosen

A lone wolf’s howl startled Freya out of her dream. She opened her eyes and was shocked to see it was dark. She stood up slowly and looked in the direction of the cry. Far off in the distance she noticed a bonfire on top of a hill. Curious who would be out at this late hour, she carefully made her way back down the stairs in the dark. As Freya approached the fire, she noticed an unusual tree towering over it. The tree’s naked white branches seemed to reach up towards the night sky in silent adulation.

At the crest of the hill, she stopped dead in her tracks. There were men surrounding the huge bonfire, and not one were wearing clothes. For modesty’s sake, she knew she should turn away and make her way back to the car, but those men…

Their toned bodies and fine asses tempted her to remain. Seriously, they were too muscular and hot not to admire. Knowing this would be her last chance to see such fine examples of manhood, Freya decided to lay low and appreciate their manliness a little longer.

It appeared that the group was performing a traditional dance of some sort based on the way they moved around the fire as one unit, stopping every quarter turn to look up and cry out to the moon in deep, low tones.

Freya noticed that the men seemed to be of similar stature—all except one. He was a head shorter than the rest. However, what made him stand out was the awkward way he moved. She focused on him, noticing that he had ragged scars covering his back, which shimmered eerily in the firelight. She couldn’t help wondering what his story was.

There was a slight shift in the night breeze and the entire group suddenly stopped, looking in her direction. She wasn’t about to get caught spying on a bunch of naked Scotsmen, so she backed down the hill slowly.

Unfortunately, her shoe brushed against a small stone. She held her breath as it rolled down the grassy hill, bouncing against a large boulder below. It was the slightest of sounds, but it was as if she’d banged two cymbals together. The group started towards her as one unit—all twenty naked, magnificent-looking men headed her way.

A sense of real danger washed over Freya as she scrambled to her feet and raced towards her car. In a matter of seconds, the group was on her, circling Freya as if she were prey.

“Who are ye?” the burliest of the males demanded.

“No one…” she stammered, trying not to stare at his exposed manly parts. Freya bit down her fear, deciding to make light of the situation in the hope she could win them over with her wit. “I’m just a lonely American girl who happened upon your private party.”

A dark-haired male declared, “Kade, the lass must die.” The others grunted their agreement.

Freya looked around in a panic and bolted towards a small gap between two of the men. She was no match against their brawn and found herself lifted off the ground by burly hands as if she weighed nothing.

“Take her to the fire,” Kade snarled.

Freya kicked and screamed in terror as they headed back to the roaring flames. “Let me go! I’ve done nothing wrong.” She attempted to stab the eye of the one who held her, but he swatted her hand away.

“Don’t try that again,” he growled ominously.

“Please don’t hurt me!” she begged. “I didn’t see anything, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Ye tainted the ceremony. Now ye must die. It is the law,” Kade insisted.

“But I know nothing of your laws. I’m innocent!”

“Shut her up, Tavin,” Kade ordered.

A powerful hand covered her mouth, effectively transforming her protests into pathetic whimpers.

They took her back to the fire and discussed her fate. Kade, who appeared to be the leader of the group, spoke first. “We could throw her in the fire and be done with it.”

Freya stared at the flames in horror.

“I cannae stomach the smell when they burn,” Tavin complained.

What!? They’ve burned humans before?

“Then I say we cut her throat. Silent, quick, done,” Kade suggested.

“Nae,” an older male growled. “Her offense demands more than that.”

Kade growled. “True enough. What do ye suggest, Skene?”

“Let’s rip her heart out and share it while she watches.”

Kade shook his head, snorting in disgust. “She’s a foreigner, I do not think we should give her that honor.”

Honor? Freya shuddered, there was no honor in having your heart ripped from your body and eaten in front of your eyes.

Tavin shrugged. “Fine. Then let’s just rip open her chest and throw her heart into the fire.”

“Aye,” the rest agreed in unison.

“Put her down, but keep her mouth covered.”

Freya fought with all of her strength, but could not break free when two of the males held her arms still, while another ripped her shirt and bra away to expose her chest.

She screamed into the hand that muzzled her when Kade approached.

“This will hurt and, aye, ye will die. However, I cannae think of a nobler way for a human to leave this Earth than by the light of the full Moon in the hands of the Chosen.” He loomed over her, his eyes glinting with an unnatural glow.

Freya shook her head violently and broke free long enough to shout, “I don’t want to die!”

The shortest of the males called out, “I will vouch for her.”

Kade glared at him. “Ye cannae!”

He repeated coolly, “I vouch for her.”

Kade snarled, saying with disgust, “But she’s… human.”

Her rescuer answered, “Nothing in the law states who can or cannae be vouched for.”

Tavin howled angrily. “Bryn, this is an outrage! She has seen us, she must die.”

Bryn moved over to Freya and sniffed her hair. “She is already dead. What honor do we bring the Moon by offering an inferior sacrifice?”

Kade moved closer and inhaled, huffing in obvious distaste afterwards. “Yer right, she’s not worthy.”

The other men shifted uncomfortably, upset to discover she was dying. It almost seemed funny. Who knew cancer could save your life?

“She only has a few more days,” Bryn stated. “Let her die in peace.”

“How can ye be sure she won’t speak of what she’s seen?” Tavin growled, pressing his hand painfully against her nose and mouth in an attempt to cut off her air.

“I have vouched for her. Do not question me, again,” Bryn snarled.

Tavin removed his hand from Freya. “It won’t happen again, Ceannard,” he said, bowing his head in deference to Bryn.

Freya knew that Ceannard meant the same as chief. She was surprised that the smallest of the males seemed to be the leader of the pack, not the imposing Kade.

Bryn took her by the arm and escorted her down the hill. “I know ye will not waste yer final moments trying to convince the villagers yer not crazy. Take these last days and enjoy the beauty of this land. Dinnae concern yerself further with this.”

Freya nodded numbly in response.

“I say this in kindness, but also as a warning, yer life and anyone ye talk to will be forfeit should ye fail to keep silent.”

“I understand… thank you.”

He snarled. “As a foreigner ye did not know yer offense. Better ye leave this world safe in the ignorance of yer kind.”

Bryn’s reference to her kind made her wonder what they considered themselves. She’d heard Kade refer to them as The Chosen. Were they a secret society of gay Scottish nudists?

“I will keep to myself until I die,” she assured him.

He opened the car door for her, “Good.”

“But why—”

Slamming the car door shut, he stated harshly, “Ye have four days at most. Spend them wisely.”

Freya felt a cold chill after hearing his death sentence for her. Even modern medicine couldn’t pinpoint the exact time and yet, she believed him. There was something otherworldly about Bryn and the others, it was remarkable—and frightening.

She drove away shaken to her core but determined to take heed of his words. Only four days…

That didn’t leave much time to realize a lifetime of dreams.

Little Lamb

Freya woke the next morning feeling in far more pain than the day before. Was it simply her mind playing tricks on her after Bryn’s pronouncement the night before?

Despite the pain, she headed out to explore a new castle—one far away from the craziness of the night before. She drove the dirt roads in the opposite direction, until she came across a herd of fluffy sheep in a large field. She couldn’t explain why, but she wanted to hold one of those tiny lambs and pet it to her heart’s content.

Freya climbed out of the car, feeling self-conscious as she squeezed her way through the fence and timidly approaching the skittish herd. They wanted nothing to do with her, especially the mamas with babies. She stopped chasing them and sat on a grassy knoll, believing that if she remained still they would realize she meant no harm and would come to her.

To her mortification, the owner of the sheep showed up minutes later. He yelled at her from the road. When she didn’t move, he crawled through the fence and made his way to her. “Get off ma land!”

Although Freya was embarrassed, she was equally determined, and shook her head with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I simply must pet a lamb or die.”

He scoffed. “Being a bit dramatic, aren’t ye?”

She shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

Freya noticed the twinkle in his eye when he asked, “So a wee lamb will save yer life?”

She smiled. “Aye.”

“Well… I suppose I could allow it if ye promise to leave afterwards. Yer scaring my herd.”

Freya giggled. “I noticed that myself. All I want to do is pet them but they keep running away.”

“Ye have to know how to talk to them, lassie.” The old man began speaking to his sheep in a soft lilting tone that even calmed her. “That’s it my pets, that’s it…” He went up to the smallest one and picked it up without any protest from its mother.

He walked back over to Freya and laid the tiny thing on her lap. “The runt. Seems fitting for such a brash lassie.”

Freya grinned. “Yes, the runt will do me just fine.” She petted the tiny creature, holding it close to her body. It accepted her caress, laying its head against her and closing its eyes. Its heart beat rapidly against her chest—so much life.

Peace washed over her in soothing waves and a tear ran down her cheek, making the old man uncomfortable.

“Dinnae cry, lass. It’s just an animal.”

Freya looked up at him. “But this is the most beautiful lamb in the world. Sweet, innocent, and full of life…” She picked it up and turned it towards her to look into its dark eyes. “You will live a long and productive life, little one.”

The old man laughed. “Aye, she will until it’s her time. Then she’ll make a delicious chop.”

Freya gasped in mock horror and kissed its tiny nose. “No, never, little one. I’m your fairy godmother. Nothing bad will ever happen to you.”

He laughed uncomfortably. “Look, lassie, I have a long day’s work ahead. It’s time ye were going.”

She sighed in resignation, putting the little lamb down and watched as it ran back to its mother, bleating sweetly. “You’re right. It is time to move on,” Freya replied sadly. She attempted to get up, but crumpled over in excruciating pain.

“What’s wrong with ye?” the old man asked in concern.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she fought off the pain. “It’s nothing… just a cramp. I’ll be fine.” Grasping the hand he offered, she stifled a cry as she struggled to get up. Once on her feet, it took several moments to steady herself enough to walk.

The old man looked troubled but said nothing.

Freya dug through her purse, pulling out a huge wad of bills and handing it over to him.

The old man crinkled his brow. “What’s that fer?”

“I want to pay for the lamb… and its mother.”

“They’re not for sale.”

Freya smiled. “I need you to keep them safe for me. Hopefully, this will be enough to feed and care for them.” She held out the money again, beseeching him to take it.

He shook his head. “These are eating stock, lassie.”

“I know, but not these two,” Freya told him, gesturing to the tiny lamb and its mother. “These two are special and destined for a long, full life.”

He stared at the large amount of bills uncertainly.

“Please!” she begged. “It would mean so much to me.” Not taking no for an answer, she placed the money in his palm and closed his fist over it.

“It’s far too much.”

“Good, you deserve to be compensated,” she insisted.

The old man shook his head doubtfully but stuffed the bills inside his pocket. “Ma name’s Robertson,” he said, shaking her hand formally.

Freya grasped it, taking it as a sign he would honor her request. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Robertson. My name is Freya McKenna.”

After shaking hands, she slowly made her way over to the lamb, speaking in soft tones as Robertson had done. Freya took off the necklace her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday, a small gold cross with a tiny ruby in the center. “This is to remind you of me, little one,” she said as she doubled the chain and fastened the jewelry around its thin neck.

The old man shook his head and laughed. “I knew Americans were odd, but I never guessed ye were doo-lally.”

“Only doo-lally in the best way,” she grinned up at him.

He shrugged. “If ye say so.”

Freya tried to walk to her car without incident, but bending over to navigate the fence proved too much. She cried out, and found Robertson instantly by her side.

He helped her into the car, but asked, “Are ye okay to drive, Miss McKenna?”

Freya nodded, holding back the tears of pain until the car was safely down the road. It seemed to be happening just the way Bryn had predicted. Her time was running out…

Passing through a village, she noticed a small pub with a sign painted bright red and the words “Slainte Mhath!” the traditional Scottish toast meaning ‘Good Health’.

How ironic, she thought, slowing down. She hoped a strong, rich lager might ease the pain and numb her growing fears.

Freya parked her car and pulled down the visor mirror to wipe away the remaining tears before fixing her makeup. Having a drink at a local pub was just what she needed to take her mind off the ticking clock inside her head.

A crackling fire greeted her inside the little pub. She quickly made her way to it, needing its warmth and distraction. The locals didn’t seem to see her as she sat down at a small table near the fireplace.

A group of men were cozied up to the bar, laughing and having far too much of a good time joking with each other so early in the day. She definitely appreciated the plethora of manly kilts.

Can it get any better than this?

Bryn

Freya smiled to herself. This was exactly what her soul needed.

Although the men were laughing too hard to notice her, the waitress at the bar sauntered over to the table. “What’ll ye ’ave?”

Freya grinned as she pointed to the lively group. “I’ll have what they’re having.”

The waitress clicked her tongue. “It’s strong, I ’ope ye can handle it.”

She poured Freya a thick, dark, foamy lager into a pint, swishing her skirt as she returned with the drink. “Enjoy…”

Freya lifted the pint to her lips and smiled in appreciation as she sucked the foam off the top. It tasted like an adult version of whipped cream. “Yum!” she purred.

Somehow, her quiet exclamation garnered the attention of the group and the tallest among them turned towards her.

Oh, hell no!

Freya tensed as Kade approached. “Well, well…who do we have here?”

The others followed, surrounding her where she sat.

Feigning ignorance, Freya answered, “Do I know you?”

Kade’s eyes narrowed. “Nae. Ye do not.”

She took another sip of the lager, almost choking on her fear. “I didn’t think so.”

The pub keeper was meticulously wiping down the bar, flinging the towel over his shoulder before looking up and asking good-naturedly, “What’s going on here?”

His charming smile melted her heart and Freya was struck dumb by how impossibly cute the man was—until their eyes met.

Bryn!

Someone new entered the pub at that exact moment. “Know where I could get some brew?” the balding Scotsmen joked, breaking the uncomfortable silence hovering in the room.

Bryn quickly recovered from his shock and answered in a jovial tone, “That I do, Fletcher. Elsa would be happy to serve ye.”

The waitress looked confused by the hostility floating in the room, but obediently grabbed a glass pint and filled it up. “There ye go, Fletch.”

Bryn joined the circle of men surrounding Freya and asked in a flirtatious tone, “What are the chances of a sweet American like yerself finding yer way to my remote pub?” His voice was light, but his eyes glinted with anger and distrust.

Freya stammered under his intense stare. “I… I was out in the countryside and happened to pass by here. It was the name of the establishment that caught my attention and I felt the urge to stop in for a drink.”

A flicker of understanding showed in Bryn’s eyes. “Slainte Mhath is but a common toast, lass.”

“Still, it struck me as appropriate… surely you can understand the attraction I had to it?” she asked beseechingly, needing him to understand it had only been a terrible coincidence.

His nostrils flared slightly as he considered her words.

“I’m sorry if my presence disturbs you,” she said, getting up to leave but the circle of men crowded in closer, effectively blocking her escape.

Freya looked to the old man who’d just entered. She decided to engage him in conversation, hoping he might prove her means of escape. “I hear they have the best lager in these parts. Do you agree?”

“Aye, it’s true, little lassie. Bryn is the master of the brew.” He lifted his pint. “Slainte Mhath!”

Freya picked up her glass and moved over to Fletcher in the guise of wanting to toast. “I’m Freya McKenna, and I’m happy to drink to that.” She held up the lager, smiling at the old man as she clinked her pint against his.

At least one person knew her name, as well as the fact she was here. Hopefully that would be enough to deter Kade from harming her.

“So ye just happened on this place, Miss McKenna?” Bryn asked skeptically, still not believing her.

She looked him in the eye, raising her chin in defiance. “Yes, I’ve come from Mr. Robertson’s place. He’s raising a lamb for me.”

“Ye lie,” Tavis accused from behind her. “Robertson would never do such a thing.”

Freya started edging towards the door, deciding they would have to physically accost her, and risk outing themselves to Fletcher, if they wanted keep her there. “You can ask Mr. Robertson, if you doubt it. Since it appears I’ve disturbed your merrymaking, I’ll be on my way.”

She was almost to the door when Fletcher called out. “Nae, don’t leave yet, lassie.” She stopped, afraid he was one of them. She breathed a sigh of relief when he added, “Ye and Elsa are the only things that brighten up the place. Stay and finish yer brew.”

Unfortunately, Bryn took advantage of her hesitation by the door, coming up behind her and putting his hand on her shoulders. “Aye, lass.” He steered her back to the bar and pulled out a stool. “Stay.”

Freya sat down reluctantly and the group of men surrounded her again. They each grabbed their pints and toasted her with leering smiles. When she took a sip, Kade tilted her glass higher, forcing her to gulp the thick brew.

The heavy lager had her feeling warm and relaxed—too relaxed.

She put it down and pushed the pint away, determined not to drink anymore and possibly miss her opportunity to escape.

Bryn disappeared into the back, coming out a few minutes later with a plate of what looked like poorly-shaped meatballs. She stared at them wondering if he wanted to poison her, but Fletcher grabbed one of the meatballs and chomped down on it with satisfaction. Freya watched in horror, expecting the innocent man to clutch his throat and fall to the ground in agony.

Instead, he just winked at her.

Bryn took a knife and cut one in two. When she saw the egg in the middle, she realized they were simply Scotch eggs, something her mother used to make on special occasions when she was a tiny bairn. He picked up one half and stuffed it into his mouth, then he pushed the plate closer to her. “Try it. My lager goes down better on a full stomach.”

Freya hesitantly took the other half and nibbled on it.

“Eat it like a true Scot!” Fletcher encouraged, grinning at her.

She popped the rest in her mouth and couldn’t help smiling as the familiar flavors of egg and spiced sausage played across her tongue. Images of her parents suddenly filled her mind and a sense of deep sadness threatened to overwhelm her.

They were gone…and soon she would be, too. Tears fell onto the wooden bar top against her will. She swiped them away, hoping no one had noticed.

“I think ye should leave now,” Kade growled under his breath.

Freya heeded his warning and got up, ready to bolt. The threat in his tone let her know this was going to be a chase. Her only hope was if she could outdistance them in her car.

In a warm voice, Bryn commanded, “Stay.”

She obediently sat back down.

He looked at the group of men accusingly. “This is my pub. How do ye expect me to survive if ye chase off customers?”

“And a sweet one at that,” Fletcher added, sneaking another egg from her plate.

Tavin growled. “She stinks up the place.”

Freya blushed, knowing the pack of men could smell death on her.

But Fletcher leaned over and breathed in her scent. “Nae, she smells of Scottish countryside.”

“Ye don’t know what yer talking about, Fletcher,” Tavin snarled, moving to the other side of the bar. The others followed, but each one of them kept their eyes glued on her.

“What’s up with ye today?” Elsa complained. “It’s not like the lot of ye ’ave never seen an American before.”

Freya glanced at them with a sense of dread. They would rip her to shreds if given the chance.

Elsa picked up on her unease, and asked pleasantly. “What do ye think of Bryn’s lager, Miss McKenna?”

“Rich and very satisfying. I’ve always dreamed of drinking a traditional lager in a small Scottish pub such as this.”

Fletcher laughed, tapping his glass against hers. “Lassie, I must make ye quiver in excitement knowing I live out yer dream every day.”

“Stop flirting, old man,” Kade growled. “She’s not worth yer time.”

Fletcher raised his eyebrow and grinned. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m tellin’ ye, Fletch, she’s the kind that’s here today and flown the next.”

The older gentleman ignored Kade and continued to make small talk with Freya, asking her about American football. “I have never understood yer sport,” he chortled. “How can it be football when ye pass it with yer hands and hold it when ye run?”

Freya shrugged, laughing. “I’ve never thought of it that way. Whatever the case, I enjoy a good Sunday game, eating hot wings with my friends and shouting out the next play at the T.V.”

The group of men didn’t join in the conversation but they listened to every word, making her extremely nervous. When Fletcher finally announced he had to head off, Freya immediately responded, “Great! I’ll walk out with you.”

She toyed with telling him everything as she headed out the door, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. She couldn’t forgive herself if something happened to the old man because of her. Freya gave his withered cheek a peck instead. “Thanks for the conversation.”

“Nae, thank ye, lassie,” he said with an embarrassed grin, rubbing his cheek appreciatively.

She gave him a playful wink before jumping into her car. I can’t believe I made it out of there alive.

Freya hit the gas, shocked she had been able to escape so easily. Her heart dropped when she looked in her rearview mirror and saw a motorcycle racing towards her. She hit the pedal to the floor, but her rental car had no guts and the lone rider was beside her in no time.

Thankfully, it was only Elsa. She signaled frantically for Freya to stop.

Freya slowed down and pulled the car to the side of the road, curious as to why the waitress had chased after her.

“Ye forgot yer purse!” Elsa said, giggling as she held out a black bag.

She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten it and searched the car, certain it was still with her. A sick feeling washed over Freya when she realized the men must have rummaged through her purse at the pub and now knew everything about her. Not just her name, but where she had once worked, her US address, everything—including the place she was staying since it was printed on the house key.

She took it from Elsa, saying begrudgingly, “Thanks.”

Elsa grabbed her wrist before she could pull away. “Ye know something, don’t ye?”

Freya’s eyes widened, stunned by the forthright question. “I… I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Elsa let go of her arm, smiling kindly. “Ye seemed frightened back there. Did one of those men ’urt ye?”

Do I tell her?

Freya swallowed hard. If she said anything, Elsa might die for it. That was their promise and she wasn’t willing to take that kind of risk. “No, I don’t know any of those men.”

“I don’t get it. Ye seemed terrified.” Elsa glanced around as if she were afraid of someone was listening. “There are rumors floating around…”

Freya’s heart quickened. “Really? What kind of rumors?”

Elsa moved closer towards her. “I knew it. Yer hiding something.”

Freya almost said it—almost blurted out the truth—but a clear warning in her gut prevented her from making that fatal mistake. “It’s nothing. It’s just that one of the men looks like my ex. He was a beast of a man. You’re probably just picking up on my revulsion for the guy.”

Elsa didn’t seem convinced. “So ye don’t know any of them?”

“How could I? I just arrived a few days ago.”

Elsa’s smile suddenly became bright and cheery. “If that’s the case, let me show ye around these parts.”

Freya hated to admit it, but she was desperate for friendship. However, she couldn’t afford the complication. It wouldn’t be fair to Elsa. “Actually, I plan on leaving in a couple of days and there’s still so much for me to squeeze in before I go.”

Elsa frowned sadly, obviously hurt by her refusal. “Oh… I guess what they say about Americans isn’t true. Yer not the friendly type.” She climbed back on her motorcycle and sped away, leaving a cloud of dust for Freya to choke on.

She rolled up the window and started the car, ignoring the sense of depression she felt. What Elsa couldn’t understand was that Freya’s rejection had most likely saved her life.

The Wolf

Freya found herself back at the castle ruins, the very ones that had caused her such grief a few nights before. She’d been haunted by a sense of grief so deep it threatened to smother her. For reasons she could not explain, she’d felt an irresistible urge to return to the place.

As she wandered the old castle grounds in the dark, aided only by the pale light of the moon, she was startled to hear the low, haunting cries of a man in the distance.

The pain expressed was so raw she couldn’t ignore it.

Freya bit down her fear as she followed the cries up the hill to the burnt out remnants of the bonfire and the ancient white tree. There she found a shirtless man face down on the ground, pounding the dirt with his fists.

She didn’t recognize who it was until she got close enough to see the scars on his back. Bryn was oblivious to her presence, so wrapped up in his grief that it gave her the chance to stare at his wounds more closely. She noted that the terrible gashes were red and swollen, which meant they were newly healed. What she found most disturbing was the fact they looked like claw and teeth marks. What kind of animal roamed these hills that can do that to a man?

She glanced around uneasily, afraid the beast might be out there now. However, Bryn’s tortured cries pulled at her soul and she instinctively reached out to him.

He looked up at her then and growled, his eyes glowing unnaturally in the dark…

Freya woke up dripping in sweat. She stumbled to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water. The pain was markedly worse than before, and it seemed she had a low grade fever on top of it. It wouldn’t be long now, her body was losing the fight. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and whimpered, “I don’t want to die…”

She crawled back into bed, throwing off the covers. Even though the night air was cold, her body was sweating from the battle raging inside her.

The odd dream continued to play in her mind, and it troubled her. She felt the insane need to drive out to the ruins and see if Bryn was really there. Freya laughed out loud and said to herself. “Must be the fever talking.”

But the longer she lay there, the more convinced she became that Bryn was there, suffering alone in agony. Finally, the feeling became too much so she pulled herself out of bed and got dressed, taking the time to make a fresh batch of coffee and grab a blanket. She figured if he wasn’t there, she’d simply lay down under the night sky and enjoy the stars.

Nothing crazy about watching the stars.

Freya left the keys in the car, in case she needed a quick exit, and grabbed the thermos and blanket. Before heading towards the tree, she closed her eyes to listen and feel. The weight of his grief called to her so clearly that Freya started to run, stumbling over rocks and clumps of grass to get to him in the dark.

She slowed down just before she reached the skeletal branches of the white tree. She could not hold back a gasp when she crested the hill and that saw no one was there. A profound sense of loss consumed her as she approached the base of the huge tree. Had she arrived too late?

Freya slumped against the trunk, slowly sliding to the ground. She looked to her left and noticed the grass was crushed as if someone had been sitting there recently. Running her hand over it, she felt certain now she’d just missed him.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he snarled, “What are ye doing here?”

“I saw you in a vision.”

“Don’t toy with me, lass,” he growled in a low, dangerous tone. In an instant, his hand was wrapped around her throat. “Why did ye come?”

“Your pain called to me,” she whispered hoarsely.

His eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip around her neck. “What do ye mean, Freya?”

She trembled under his unyielding grip. “I felt the need to come, to see if you were okay.” She paused before admitting, “I wanted to… comfort you.”

He snarled, releasing his hold on her. “Ye cannae comfort me.” He turned away, facing the castle, adding under his breath, “Nothing can free me from this hell.”

Freya reached out to him, as she had in her dream, and he growled ominously. She quickly snatched her hand back. Whatever had compelled her to come to this place, Freya understood now it had been a mistake. Bryn did not want or need her help.

She started backing away from him, inching slowly towards her car.

“Ye cannae leave.”

She stopped in her tracks, fear gripping her heart. There was no way she could outrun him; she’d already learned that lesson the first night.

“Ye dinnae kin what ye have stumbled into. Would ye like to be enlightened before ye die?”

She closed her eyes. “Are you going to kill me, then?”

Bryn spat out, “Nae, the cancer in yer body is doing the job well enough.”

She nodded, tears escaping her tightly closed eyes. “Aye…”

There was a hint of sympathy in his voice when he replied, “Yer frightened of it—the other side.”

If death was inevitable, then she wanted to go out like a warrior not a wimp. She wiped her tears away angrily and straightened her back before answering him. “Yes. I may be afraid, but I’m no coward.”

His smiled was genuine. “Aye, yer strong of spirit, I’ll give ye that. We fully expected ye to talk when we sent Elsa.”

“What?” she asked in disbelief.

“We had to know yer intentions, so Tavis took yer purse and Elsa was instructed to push ye to tell her what ye knew.”

Freya broke out in a cold sweat. “You mean you set me up that day?”

“What were we supposed to think when ye showed up at the pub?”

“But it was purely an accident! I never would have walked in if I had known.”

“I don’t believe in accidents, Freya McKenna. However, the fact ye kept silent meant we didn’t have to chase ye down and end it.”

He spoke of murdering her as if it were nothing, like it was a common occurrence in his little world. She needed to know the truth.

“What’s this big secret that you’re willing to kill innocent people for?”

His smile was frightening. “Trust me when I say it will shock and disgust ye.”

She wasn’t intimidated. “Bryn, it would take a lot to shock a dying nurse of forty-some years.”

His grin became broader as an unnatural glow seemed to emanate from his eyes. The thrill of pure fear washed over her. Whatever Bryn was, he was definitely not human.

“I want to know,” she insisted.

“Then ye may want to sit.”

With her heart pounding in her chest, she sat down with her back against the tree.

Bryn’s smile took on an eerie leer as he undid his pants in front of her. There was nothing sexual about his actions—that leer of his was terrifying.

He looked at the sliver of moon above him and held his hands up towards the sky. Then he let out a blood-curdling howl.

Freya’s jaw dropped as his body began to transform. Bryn’s chest grew broader as his back legs began to shift unnaturally. Long, silvery hair began sprouting over his entire body. But the most frightening change of all was his face. His mouth and nose elongated into the shape of a canine snout with viciously sharp teeth. Bright yellow eyes bore into her as he fell to the ground on all fours, panting. Drool dripped from his massive jaws, just inches from her face.

Freya felt like a terrified rabbit, completely trapped by her own fear.

Bryn moved closer, blowing his hot, moist breath on her cheek. She whimpered, knowing it would only take one snap of those strong jaws to end her. He lowered his head, staring into her soul with those unnatural eyes…

Freya expected a quick and violent death, but Bryn threw his head back and howled at the moon, this time the sound of it distinctly lupine. His ears twitched, focusing on some unheard noise coming from the east, and he took off.

Freya spent several seconds recovering from the shock before her flight instinct took over and she scrambled to her feet. Fresh pain ripped through her gut, almost paralyzing her, but she fought through it to get to her car.

Once there, she slammed the door shut and locked it, thanking the heavens she’d left the keys in the ignition. The tires threw up a cloud of dust as she raced away, trying to put as much distance as she could from the creature.

Her only thought was to get back to the cottage, but it wasn’t long before she had to pull to the side of the road. She opened the car door and threw up. A terrible spasm coursed through her, leaving her breathless and weak.

She heard the far off howl of the beast and panic gripped her heart. She wiped her mouth against her sleeve and took off again. Her only thought was getting back to the cottage. She felt like a wild animal needing a quiet place to curl up and die—safe and alone.

Freya staggered out of the car when she reached the cottage, collapsing just inside the entrance unable to move any further.

It didn’t matter, this was the end. She was going to die tonight, right there on the cold stone floor.

She stifled a frightened cry when the huge wolf entered her open door. She crawled away from him in desperation. When she glanced back, she saw that he had transformed back into human form—in all his naked glory.

“Ye do not need to fear me, Freya McKenna.”

Old Wounds

Freya sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees in a protective ball. “Why are you here?”

“Ye should not die alone.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t want to die.”

A look of anguish washed over Bryn and his eyes clouded over with pain. He shook it off, growling under his breath before walking over and picking her up despite her vocal protests. He carried her upstairs to the bed and gently placed her on it. Then he lay down, enfolding her in his beefy arms.

“Yer safe, Freya.”

His human warmth filled her with profound peace and she repeated the word, “Safe…”

“Try to think of death as a gift.”

“I can’t,” she whispered, fresh tears running down her cheeks.

“Try,” he encouraged.

They lay there in silence as Freya tried to convince herself that the end rushing towards her was wanted.

She couldn’t.

She screamed out in fear when the next wave of pain hit, and Bryn stroked her hair whispering, “Shhh… shhh… It’s almost over, ye have almost won the battle.”

After it had passed, she looked up at him. “Thank you for protecting me from the others… and for being here now.”

“I’ve seen enough brutal deaths. I dinnae want to add ye to the list.”

Another spasm racked her body and she groaned.

“Do not fight it,” he said soothingly.

Freya shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s in my nature to fight.”

“Aye, but I do,” he snorted. “I’m the same. I must keep fighting, even when I know I will lose.”

She gazed into his amber eyes. “Is that the reason for those scars on your back?”

Agony darkened his eyes as Bryn shifted, propping his back against the headboard, choosing not to answer her.

“Is it the reason you were at the tree tonight?” she pushed.

He remained silent.

Freya began panting hard as searing fire clawed through her middle. She looked up at Bryn in fear. “Please talk to me. Your voice soothes me.”

He nodded, his tone lulling and gentle even though what he shared was anything but. “To answer yer question, it was under that tree I vowed to the Moon that I would do whatever was needed to ensure the survival of our pack. For countless years, we’d been under the rule of an unstable Ceannard, one that seemed to be systematically destroying our future. I fought for our survival, believing I had the Moon’s blessing, but in fighting to protect it, I ended up sacrificing all that mattered to me.”

He stared down at her, stating matter-of-factly, “Our Ceannard was a cruel and shortsighted leader, threatening our very existence by targeting the humans that live in this region. We’ve coexisted by keeping ourselves hidden amongst them, but over the years he’d grown to despise all humans and wanted to declare war. When one of our elders, Keir, questioned his wisdom, Ranulf made a terrible and bloody example of him.”

Bryn stroked her hair gently as she suffered through another wave of pain before continuing. His voice remained calm, even serene, despite the story he shared. “Ranulf called him up before the assembly, next to the Sacred Moon tree and asked him to explain his concerns to the pack. Keir was flattered by such an honor and humbly shared his reservations, all of which were valid. Our Ceannard listened carefully, but he surprised us by laughing afterwards. He used Keir’s words against him, telling the pack. ‘Ye claim ye cannae fight against the humans in our territory and I agree with ye.’ Ranulf addressed the rest of us with a cruel leer that spoke to his intent. ‘Unfailing obedience to yer Ceannard is the law.’

“He ordered Keir to bow. I’ll never forget the resignation on his face as he fell to his knees. Keir had done nothing wrong, and yet the entire pack stood by as our Ceannard transformed into wolf form.

“I could not stand by and watch him die, so I transformed into a wolf despite the fearful protests of my family.”

“No one joined you?”

“Ranulf was Ceannard for a reason, Freya. He was the strongest of all the Alphas and I was no match against his strength or brutality. He played with me the way a cat does with a mouse as he finished off Keir in front of the assembly, tearing him limb from limb. Ranulf saved his throat for last, so that the entire pack would remember his screams of agony.”

Freya shuddered, imagining the bloody scene.

“Would ye prefer I stop?” Bryn asked, cradling her closer to him.

“No,” she answered weakly. “I want to know how you survived.”

“It was quick and brutal when he finally stopped toying with me. Any attacks I scored were simply because he’d allowed it. When the final attack came, I fell to the ground to protect my underbelly. He closed his teeth around the back of my neck and ripped my back with his claws. My whole body went numb, smelling his blood-tainted breath as he shredded my skin.

“I’ll never forget that moment when I accepted my death—I felt total peace.” He looked at her tenderly. “Ye will feel the same, Freya.”

She nodded, wanting to believe him.

Bryn let out a deep, painful sigh. “If only I had died…” He gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I woke up to the terrified screams of my sister. I regained consciousness in time to see her gutted by Ranulf.” His voice caught. “She looked at the pack and whimpered, ‘I don’t want to die’ before choking on her own blood.”

Freya felt warm tears drop onto her arm as he stated bitterly, “Not one tried to save her.”

“What about your parents?”

“They were already dead. My entire family-line wiped out for my insubordination.” Bryn held her tighter. “As Ranulf stood gloating over her body, I gathered all my hatred to give me the strength to stand. I came up behind him while the pack remained silent and lunged, biting into the side of his neck and ripping his throat before he knew what’d happened. I fell next to my sister’s body fully expecting to die.

“With blood pouring from the gaping wound I’d caused, Ranulf turned to attack me. That’s when the pack finally responded, jumping on him as a unit. In a matter of seconds, our great Ceannard was dead.” He paused, adding with regret, “Unfortunately, I did not die with him.”

Freya stiffened in his arms as another, more intense spasm took over. It was so severe she nearly blacked out. Bryn murmured words of comfort as she struggled. When it finally passed, she asked with great effort, “What happened after Ranulf died?”

“My pack tended to my wounds when normally they would have put me out of my misery. I don’t know why, death would have been a mercy. When it was determined I was healed enough, they made me Ceannard.”

“The chief among your people?”

“Aye. They meant it as an honor, but I see it only as punishment. I’m bound to protect them and cannae give in to the call of death.” He looked down at her tenderly. “I envy ye, Freya. I would join ye if I could.”

She closed her eyes. “Bryn…”

“Aye?”

“Could you save me?”

He growled, pulling away from her. “Ye cannae know what ye ask.”

She opened her eyes. “But you could.”

He left the bed, pacing the room like a crazed animal.

Freya held out her hand to him. “Please don’t leave me…”

He stared at her, refusing to budge until another spasm racked her body. He returned, holding her tight as she trembled in his arms. “Freya, understand that it would be crueler of me to save ye than to let ye die.”

She frowned, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

Freya felt his hands on her face as he forced her to stare into his foreign, dangerous eyes. “I can save ye, but the solution would be worse than the dying. This life is not for ye and the process of the transformation itself is violent.”

She cried out when a new wave of pain hit. “Please explain,” she begged.

“To experience the Athrú, I would have to kill ye. A bite alone would not cause a transformation. Athrú requires yer heart to stop beating as I bite. It is only in death a werewolf can emerge.”

“That doesn’t scare me, Bryn. I’m already dead.”

He lifted her chin gently. “Trust me, death is the better alternative. Ye only seek escape from it because yer frightened.”

“No…” Tears ran down her face when she confessed. “All this time I thought I came to die in my homeland, but tonight I see clearly that is not the reason I came back.” Her hand was shaking as she caressed his strong, masculine jaw. “Bryn, I came for you.”

His eyes narrowed as he shook his head.

Freya nodded, smiling confidently. “Yes, it all makes sense now. I’ve had visions about you ever since I came to Scotland. You said yourself that you don’t believe in accidents. I agree. It was no accident I came upon you the night of the bonfire, no accident that I happened upon you at the pub and no accident when I found you tonight at the Sacred Moon tree. I wasn’t meant to die, I was meant for you so that you could finally live.”

“Nae. It would not be right.”

“Please, Bryn. I don’t want to be separated from you now that I found you.”

His sigh was low and tortured. “I cannae. If I were to perform the Athrú, it would be for purely selfish reasons.”

“Listen to me.” She took his face in both her hands, gazing deep into his amber eyes. “You said you thought you had the Moon’s blessing when you vowed to protect the pack from your Ceannard. I believe this is her answer for your obedience.”

Bryn’s eyes softened.

“Honor the Moon’s blessing for you, Bryn.”

He shook his head sadly. “I’m a cursed wolf. Dinnae ask this, ye will regret it.”

“But I want this for me—for us.”

She saw a brief look of hope before his eyes became hard and cold. “Werewolves cannae perform the Athrú without approval from the pack. Changing humans is a rare occurrence, one used only when a pack is dying out or to fortify numbers during times of war.”

“Surely as Ceannard you can bend the rules?”

“They’d never agree to it. The act would be seen as an abuse of my power. I would be challenged for ignoring the law.”

“Then we could run away and start a new life together.”

He snarled. “Ye show yer ignorance, Freya. I am the Ceannard. I will never leave the pack. I’m bound to protect it until I die.” He stood up, transforming into a wolf before her. Bryn glared at her accusingly with those amber eyes before running off.

“Please, Bryn, please don’t leave me to die!” she cried.

The feeling of loss overwhelmed her, hurting more than any pain she’d endured. Freya rocked herself as she screamed into the pillow. How could he leave her like this? Freya whimpered pitifully when a deep, stabbing pain cut through her middle and would not stop. Eventually, she was forced to accept the darkness that was demanding her soul. It became her escape and a calmness settled over her.

She closed her eyes and whispered to the heavens, “I’m not afraid anymore…”

Freya felt the warm, moist breath of the wolf before she smelled him. She opened her eyes and smiled.

Bryn.

He licked her cheek, whimpering softly. Then he nuzzled her neck, forcing her head to the side, exposing her throat to him. Bryn looked into her eyes one last time and she nodded, not having the strength to speak.

Freya felt only gladness when his teeth closed around her throat and cut off her air, but she noticed he did not bite hard enough to break the skin. She struggled under him, realizing he was not there to save her.

Thrashing violently, her body fought one last time to cling to life. It was then, in the struggle, she understood that Bryn was putting her out of her misery. It was the way of his kind—a final act of kindness.

It was enough.

Freya stilled herself, accepting his gift. Her heart began pounding in her ears as the darkness took hold. Having fought it for so long, she finally relaxed and gave in, letting her spirit release.

Rebirth

She felt hot blood coursing through her, burning her up with its animal heat. Next came the unique smell of him. Without even opening her eyes, she knew who lay beside her, could hear his breath, could even hear the rapid beating of his heart.

Freya opened her eyes and was flooded with overly bright colors and sharper images than she’d seen before. “Bryn,” she croaked.

“Shh… Ye need time to adjust to yer new body.”

She turned her head and stared at him in wonder. He didn’t look anything like the man she’d known. Her new eyes picked up on the various tones of his skin, and the sharp curvature of his jaw, the rippling muscles of his chest. His eyes, however, were the most magnificent of all.

Freya smiled as she looked into those glowing amber orbs of light. “You’re beautiful,” she said in a gravelly voice.

He put his finger on her lips. “Shh…”

Freya tentatively touched him, running her fingers down his strong, veiny arm and felt a thrill of excitement. Her fingers tingled from the simple contact. He even felt beautiful.

She smiled, wondering how she looked to him now. Had she been equally transformed?

“Welcome to my hell.”

She shook her head. “No, the beginning of your heaven.”

He smiled down at her. “Ye foolish lass. Normally, humans who go through the Athrú grow up here and have heard stories and rumors of The Chosen. But ye?” He chuckled softly. “It’s like yer a newborn bairn. I will have to teach ye everything.”

She sat up and suddenly the room began spinning. He pushed her back down on the bed. “Too fast, Freya. I told ye it takes time to get used to yer new body.”

She smiled at him, grateful for his wisdom. “Teach me, Bryn. I want to learn everything about you and your pack.”

Bryn suddenly looked troubled. “The pack will not be pleased. This may end badly, Freya.”

“You didn’t tell them when you left?”

“Nae, I knew they would not agree. I left to pray to the Moon for wisdom. She gave me the courage to come back for ye.”

Freya wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. A whole new world opened up with that kiss. All at once, in equal measure, she smelled his masculinity, tasted his gratifying lips, felt his possessive aura, heard the increase of his heartbeat and connected with his spirit.

She pulled away, amazed by it, and stared at him wondrously.

He gazed into her eyes, looking just as surprised.

“Bryn, I’ve never felt anything like that…”

“Nor I.” His eyes glowed with a light that drew her in and held her captive. He explained huskily, “I’ve heard when ye find yer true mate it’s like this.”

“True mate?”

He leaned down to kiss her again, groaning when their lips made contact. This time when he pulled away his eyes shone with a possessive tenderness. Freya had never felt so cherished or desired by another.

“I spent my youth growing up with stories of it,” he explained. “A wolf knows when he has met his true mate because the connection is immediate and undeniable. However, I’ve never felt that with anyone, not even ye—until now.”

She looked at him in blind admiration. “I can’t stop staring. I can’t get enough of your kisses, your touches. I. Need. More.”

He cocked his head. “What a compelling craving. I smell in on ye, I taste it in yer kisses, I feel it in yer touch. Yer meant to be mine.”

Freya smiled, certain she understood why. “The Moon knew we were meant for each other and told me through my visions.”

She touched his chest just to feel the thrill of the connection.

“Aye, I suppose that’s true. The Moon brought ye to me but in human form. It took the Athrú for me to finally sense the truth.” Bryn took her hand, guiding it over his naked body. Both were entranced by the fiery power of the contact.

He growled, abruptly moving away from her. “The first order of business is to introduce ye to the pack so that we can officially become Everlasting. I will not touch ye again until the ceremony. It seems I have zero restraint.”

Bryn opened the window and threw back the shutters, howling at the Moon in his human form. It was a glorious, emotionally uplifting cry.

He turned back to her, his naked body outlined by the pale caress of the moon, staring at her with lust in his eyes. “Yes, I need to stay far away from ye until then.”

Bryn ignored his own declaration, striding over and taking her into his arms. He breathed in her smell, tightening his embrace. “As glorious as this feels, the road ahead will not be easy, Freya. I’ve broken the law. As Ceannard, there will be a price to be paid.”

Freya snuggled against him. “Whatever the price, I don’t regret this. To find my true mate—to know the power of this connection—is worth any price.”

He kissed her again, running his hands through her hair, sending delicious chills down her spine. She got lost in his kiss, her spirit mingling with his. He grunted, forcing himself away but staring at her hungrily. “I never believed in finding one’s true mate, I assumed it was a fanciful tale.”

“Like fairies and dragons?” she asked playfully.

Bryn smiled, leaning down to growl in her ear. “Nae, Freya. Dragons are real.”

She caught her breath. Dragons?

It was amazing to think that through her death she had found new life. A life full of mystical charm and dangerous allure, one she was ready and eager to discover with Bryn.

She insisted on getting up and, with his support, slowly made her way to the window. Freya stared up at the Moon and howled for the very first time. It was the sound of pure joy and gratitude.

Pleasant chills coursed through her when Bryn joined in her song…

You can find Red on:

Twitter: @redphoenix69

Website: RedPhoenix69.com

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Red Phoenix is the author of:

Paranormal Erotic Romances

His Scottish Pet: Dom of the Ages

* Available in eBook and paperback

(Scottish Dom—A sexy Dom escapes to Scotland in the late 1400s. He encounters a waif who has the potential to free him from his tragic curse)

(Novellas and Novelettes available as eBooks)

Varick: The Reckoning

(Savory Vampire—A dark, sexy vampire story. The hero navigates the dangerous world he has been thrust into with lusty passion and a pure heart)

Keeper of the Wolf Clan (Keeper of Wolves, #1)

(Sexual Secrets—A virginal werewolf must act as the clan’s mysterious Keeper)

The Keeper Finds Her Mate (Keeper of Wolves, #2)

(Second Chances—A young she-wolf must choose between old ties or new beginnings)

Other Delicious Erotic Romances by Red Phoenix

Brie Learns the Art of Submission

* Available in eBook and paperback

(Submissive Exploration—A young woman enters a world of new experiences when she enrolls in the Submissive Training Center)

Brie Embraces the Heart of Submission

* Available in eBook and Paperback

(Submission of the Heart—After being collared, Brie learns that submission is sexier and more challenging than she’d ever imagined)

Blissfully Undone

* Available in eBook and paperback

(Snowy Fun—Two people find themselves snowbound in a cabin where hidden love can flourish, taking one couple on a sensual journey into ménage à trois)

Sensual Erotica: The Erotic Love Story of Amy and Troy

* Available in eBook and paperback

(Sexual Adventures—True love reigns, but fate continually throws Troy and Amy into the arms of others)

Novelettes

Socrates Inspires Cherry to Blossom

(Satisfying Surrender—a mature and curvaceous woman becomes fascinated by an online Dom who has much to teach her)

In 9 Days

(Sweet Romance—A young girl falls in love with the new student, nicknamed ‘the Freak’)

9 Days and Counting

(Sacrificial Love—The sequel to In 9 Days delves into the emotional reunion of two longtime lovers)

And Then He Saved Me

(Saving Tenderness—When a young girl tries to kill herself, a man of great character intervenes with a love that heals)

Play With Me at Noon

(Seeking Fulfillment—A desperate wife lives out her fantasies by taking five different men in five days)

Yes it is true!

The New Brie Series Begins…

Submissive in Love:

#1 Brie’s Tokyo Tryst

The Highlander’s Mate

A Prequel to Wolf at Her Door
by

Liliana Rhodes

Prologue

Ainsley

I remembered everything as if it just happened yesterday. Only it wasn’t so recent, it was a long time ago. Time didn’t change how I felt or the pain that coursed through my chest whenever I thought of him...Bran. He was the love of my life, the one who made me feel things I never thought possible, but I had to leave him. It was the hardest decision I had ever made, one I might not have chosen if I realized how long forever would feel without him.

Chapter One

Bran

Where the hell was I? Turning off the road, I noticed a sign that said Leeds Point. I was in New Jersey, a state I had been to a couple of times before and had never thought I would return to again.

This time was different though. I caught her scent and I had to follow it. I didn’t have a choice. I would follow that scent wherever it led me. It had been over four hundred years since I first caught her scent. How could she still be alive?

The road was dark with only a few street lamps guiding me. I didn’t know where I was headed, but in the distance I saw a green neon sign for a bar called Night Shift. Did people accept shifters in this strange town? Or was that name just a coincidence?

As I steered the car towards the rickety old wooden building, I knew the answer--the air was filled with shifters. Breathing in deeply, I tried to catch her scent, but it wasn’t there. If I were patient, it would come back to me. It had to.

Everything around the building looked worn down and deserted. Why would any shifter or even human come here? I knew the bar was a dive before I even stepped out of my car. But for some unexplainable reason, I felt that was where I needed to be.

Wearing jeans and a polo shirt, I knew I would fit in with the crowd. It was a habit I cultivated a long time ago. Someone like me didn’t want to stand out in the crowd. Blending in was safer. Not that I was afraid of anything, I just didn’t want to attract attention to myself.

Walking past the large man at the door, I sensed he was a manatee shifter. I always recognized what each shifter was. I had been around for too long to not recognize the subtleties. The place only had a few tables in one corner by the bar. There were some shifters shooting pool, another looking through the selections at the jukebox, an alpha grizzly behind the bar, and a wolf by a pinball machine talking to a brunette human and her friend. They were wearing skirts that were too short for their own good. He was going to cause trouble before the night was through.

I stepped up to the bar and stood between two stools. No point in getting too comfortable yet, I thought. The bear nodded at me as he walked over. He was a tanned, muscular man with kind eyes and the scent of a human on him. A couple of women at the end of the bar were talking about him. I closed my eyes briefly to listen.

“Rafael is so hot,” a woman with blonde highlights said to her friend. “I don’t know what he sees in that weirdo Pinky Smythe.”

“Come on sweetie, I promise I’ll bring you back to your friend later. Let’s go for a ride,” the wolf by the pinball machine said.

“My name isn’t sweetie, it’s Suzy,” the human he was talking to said.

Turning to look over at the wolf, I could see him becoming more aggressive. He was pushing himself closer to her even though she was pulling away. Her hands were on his chest as she tried to keep him at a distance, but he didn’t realize any of it. He was too tuned into her humanness to notice the fear in her eyes. I knew men like that. It didn’t matter if they were human or shifter, they were always wrong.

“What can I get you?” Rafael asked.

“Whatever’s on tap,” I said without looking at him, feeling the amber glow of my eyes.

Pushing my dark, chin-length wavy hair back, I left the bar and walked towards the pinball machine. The fur was already beginning to sprout along my neck and arms, but I wouldn’t make a full shift to wolf. I only wanted its strength.

No one else in the bar could hear what was going on between the wolf and Suzy. These shifters weren’t like me or any of my clan. Most shifters weren’t like us. Focusing my attention on the wolf, I listened in again.

“Let’s go honey, I’m tired of this game you’re playing. I know you want it.”

The wolf grabbed Suzy by her arm and she tried to yank it away, but it was useless.

“Let her go!” her friend said as she pushed at the wolf.

With his free arm, he swatted the friend away like she was a bug, his eyes glowing amber. She stumbled onto a nearby table, which tipped over and landed on the floor. I had seen enough.

The wolf turned towards the door, dragging Suzy with him. Just as she screamed, I put my hand on his shoulder, turned him towards me, and let my fist meet his face. I never hit a man who didn’t see it coming. It wasn’t the way of a Highlander.

He let go of the human, and she ran to her friend as Rafael leapt over the bar and stood between the wolf and the women. The wolf threw a punch at me, but he was too slow and I easily stepped aside then grabbed him by the back of his neck as he lost his balance.

The manatee at the door entered the room. With one hand, I held the wolf shifter by the back of his neck and tossed him towards the door. If he wanted to act like trash, he deserved to be treated as such.

As I made my way back to the bar, the few people around stepped out of my way, their eyes wide. Whether human or shifter, I was used to that look from others whenever I displayed my strength.

Rafael brought Suzy and her friend to the bar and gave them a couple of drinks. Then he tilted a frozen mug under the tap as he filled it and placed it on the bar in front of me.

“That’s on the house,” he said.

“No, I’m a paying customer,” I said.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What gave me away, lad?” I said jokingly.

“You’re not the only one with an accent, you know,” he said, letting his New Orleans roots shine through.

“Our voices will always tell our tale,” I said with a grin.

It didn’t matter how long I had been away from Scotland, it never left my voice.

Suzy slid over a few stools with her friend close behind and sat beside me. They were both tempting with full cherry-glossed lips, but I knew why that wolf chose Suzy over her friend.

While humans thought of Suzy as fat, shifters saw her as curvy and luscious. Her scent called to my own wolf spirit to play, but hers wasn’t the scent I longed for.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said with a shy smile. “I’m Suzy, and this is my friend Michelle. Wow, look at your eyes. Are they grey? You know, you’re my hero. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along.”

“I know what would have happened, Suzy,” I said. “You and your friend should know better than to come to a shifter bar at night. Just like humans, not every shifter is as honorable as they should be.”

She looked down, embarrassed, and I felt bad for talking to her like that. I couldn’t help but treat her like a child. She was a child. But in comparison to me, they all were.

***

After a couple of hours, the bar emptied. The bouncer came in and sat down with his feet up on a table, his chair leaning back unsteadily against the wall. Rafael took glasses out of the dishwasher under the bar and dried them with a rag. I continued to nurse my beer.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Rafael said with a tilt of his head, “what are you? I’m sensing you’re a shifter, but there’s something else. I’m Rafael LeCroix by the way, grizzly alpha.”

I admired his courage and gave him a smile. Most men wouldn’t ask me a question like that. Most men didn’t speak to me.

“Nice to meet you, Rafael. I’m Bran MacCulloch. Aye, I am a shifter. A wolf shifter to be exact, just as the rest of my clan are. The something else, I can’t really explain. It doesn’t have a name, but I was born in the 1500s in Scotland.”

“You’re...immortal?” he asked, his eyes growing wider.

“Yes, all of Clan MacCulloch is, unfortunately. I’ve spent the last four hundred years wandering after losing my love, my mate. Every so often, I catch what I believe is her scent. That’s why I’m here now. I’m sure I’m going mad because she died a long time ago, but I had to follow it anyway.”

“You’re hoping you’re wrong and she’s still alive,” he said.

I smiled and rubbed my stubbly chin as I admired how perceptive he was.

“Yes, I’m hoping to find her. Or even some news of her. Looking back, it was the hope that she might be alive that kept me going. Since the day I first caught her scent and saw her hair being whipped around by the wind, I knew she was the one for me.”

“You look like you’re in the mood to talk,” he said.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to anyone. I don’t usually bother, but there’s something about you, Rafael. Maybe it’s just having her scent in my lungs that’s making me do it, but I can’t help but reminisce.”

“Well, the bar is closed so you’ve got all night,” he said, smiling.

“I’ve wandered a lot these many years and I’ve learned how to change my language and appearance to fit in. I’ve never told anyone my story before, but for your benefit, I will tell it to you in your modern English.”

“Thank you,” he said, pulling up a stool and taking a seat. “I’d be honored to hear it.”

I gave him a nod, appreciating the respect of someone so young. It was something I didn’t often find these days.

“My story starts a very long time ago in a magical place, the Highlands, my home...”

Chapter Two

Bran

Mid-1500s, Scotland

The sun rose over the deep green hills. Morning was my favorite time of day, and I rarely missed the sunrise. Those few minutes to myself before our clan rose was enough to make my day great. The only thing that made a day perfect was spending time with my love, Ainsley.

Ainsley had the fairest skin and green eyes that rivaled the hills of our home. Her dark red hair flowed down past her shoulders and was as wild as she was.

The first time I saw Ainsley, she was climbing a sea stack near Handa. She couldn’t have been more than ten at the time. I was twelve and hunting with my father when I noticed her red hair waving like a flag in the breeze. But her hair wasn’t what first caught my attention, it was her scent.

***

I was in the field, with my arrow tracking a red stag. My father was somewhere nearby. We didn’t hunt for food. That was something the clan provided for my father, who was the clan chief. We hunted for sport.

The deer was in a perfect spot. I could lie down in the high fields and creep closer towards the unsuspecting animal. I was moving just a little closer, to guarantee a hit, when my head began to spin.

“Aye, come on, lad,” my father whispered. “You’re about to lose that stag.”

I tried to focus once more on the large animal in front of me, but it was useless. Something was calling me, tugging at me to pay attention. I popped my head up out of the grass, scaring the deer, which froze before it darted away.

I didn’t care about the deer. My mind was focused on something else, the call only I could hear. I looked down the cliff with its heather towards the sea stacks of Handa, and the scent of raspberries overwhelmed me.

In the distance, I noticed something red waving on the side of one of the sea stacks. It was a wisp of a girl, but she was climbing the sea stack with a confidence I had only seen in grown men.

“Oh no, you don’t, Bran,” my father said. “I know that look. Don’t tell me it’s that Drummond girl. She doesn’t wear our colors.”

I turned towards my father and met his disapproving stare.

“Drummond? You know her?”

“Aye, that’s Ainsley Drummond. Her father wasn’t lucky enough to have a son, so he raised her as one.”

“Is that her? The raspberries? She’s so far away, how is it that I’ve caught her scent?”

“I don’t know, lad. But forget about it. There will be plenty of others once you’re of age. Forget you ever saw her.”

“I don’t know that I can,” I said as I looked back towards her.

“You’re just children, and she is the daughter of our clan’s foe. I’m ordering you to forget about her. She is not and will never be your mate!”

***

I was too young to understand what a mate was back then, and I didn’t care to find out. My father had made it clear I was to have nothing to do with her, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the strange girl climbing the sea stacks.

Chapter Three

Bran

It had been nearly ten years since I first encountered Ainsley Drummond, and not a day passed that I didn’t think about her. I regularly hunted or went for walks near the cliffs by Handa with the hopes of seeing her climbing the sea stack again, but it never happened.

One day while sitting on a large stone looking out towards the sea, Donal joined me with his flock of sheep. It was something he did every so often when he thought I was becoming too quiet. Donal didn’t appreciate the need for a man to be alone with his thoughts.

“A group of us are going hunting at sundown,” he said. “It should be safe, no one has heard of any planned wolf hunts tonight.”

The wolves began to make themselves known as more villages appeared in the Highlands. The townspeople were afraid of the wolves and believed they were digging up their graves and causing mischief, but their real fear was losing their animals to the hungry wolves. As the wolves became more of a problem, James VI sanctioned several hunts throughout the year.

No one knew we existed in the Highlands as shifters. There were tales of other shifters occupying the area, but those were more fantastical creatures such as dragons and sea creatures, or that thing that lived in the loch. When humans saw a wolf, they never suspected that it could be one of us.

“I’ll join you,” I said. “I could use some air, and a hunt will do me good.”

“We’ll be meeting in the fields outside your home, just before the Caledonian Forest.”

After Donal left, I gathered my things and returned to our village. As the sun lowered itself on the horizon, I saw several others from our village already in wolf form, ready to join the hunt. Undressing, I left my clothes on the cot and slowly let myself feel the change take over my body.

Fur sprouted along my arms, up over my chest, and then continued down the length of my body. My ears shifted up along my scalp before they lengthened and stood. As my nose and mouth began to change, growing and filling with teeth, I sped the process up and let the wolf take over.

Joining the others, we walked as a pack along the pathway from the village towards the forest. Many of the others hunted regularly, but I only did it for exercise.

The Caledonian Forest was filled with ancient pine trees. With the sun setting, our hunt wouldn’t last long. The ground was steep and rocky and at night, when we couldn’t see our footing as well, it could be dangerous. Still, as wolves, that was part of the fun.

As we entered the woods, I let the others race ahead of me and enjoyed the feel of the earth beneath my paws. A rabbit peeked out from under some brush, and I pounced to make it run.

The rabbit was quick and ducked behind a tree, thinking it was out of my sight. I had no interest in capturing it, but I wanted the rush of a chase. Crouching low, I carefully stepped around the wide tree trunk when a familiar scent stopped me.

It was her! The girl I saw all those years ago climbing the sea stack. Putting my snout to the wind, I took in several short sniffs, and scent of raspberries surrounded me. This wasn’t my imagination playing tricks on me, this was for real.

Stepping over the frightened rabbit, I followed the scent through the woods. I was in an unfamiliar area when I saw her. She was a female wolf with silver fur unlike any I had ever seen before. She was crouched down, ready to pounce, with her eyes focused in front of her.

Following her gaze, I noticed a deer in the clearing just ahead. I was so taken by her scent and the beauty of her fur that I didn’t watch my step. As I put my weight onto one of my paws, the loud snap of a branch echoed through the trees, startling the deer, causing it to run away.

With bright amber eyes, the wolf turned and looked at me angrily with her teeth bared. She changed into her human form, her dark green eyes narrowed at me, her jaw clenched. She was naked but didn’t seem to care.

My eyes roamed her lush, ample body. I longed to touch the softness of her skin, to feel the curves of her body pressed against me. I wanted to bury my face in her dark red hair and taste her neck. But now wasn’t the time for that.

As she charged towards me, her eyes flashed angrily again. Unsure what to expect from her, I changed into human form.

“Do you have any idea how long I tracked that deer? It’s my father’s birthday tomorrow and that was going to be dinner. You owe me a deer,” she said as she poked me hard in the chest.

I was speechless. No one had ever spoken to me that way before, let alone a woman.

She poked my chest again, this time a little slower, then moved her hand over my pecs and up to my shoulder. She tilted her head to the side as her eyes traveled down my body then back up.

“Hmm, you’re strong, and you’re much larger than me. I’m sure you’ll have no problem getting me a deer,” she said before she turned around.

“I’m not killing a deer,” I said.

“Why not? It’s your fault it ran away. It was meant to be a present for my father. Now what am I going to give him?”

“You can find something else to eat.”

“I don’t want anything else to eat. Like I told you, it was for my father’s birthday, and he deserves something special.”

Thinking about the young girl climbing the sea stack and now the woman hunting game for her father, I had to smile. She was far from that young girl now with her womanly figure and full bosom. I forced my eyes away from her body and settled on her face. She folded her arms over her chest, and her eyes narrowed at me again.

“You think I’m funny because I’m a woman, don’t you?”

“No, not at all. I was just thinking, remembering something. I’ve seen you before. It was many years ago. You were climbing in Handa.”

“Aha! I knew I recognized your scent,” she said. “That was the last time I was there. My father forbade me to return. He said it was too dangerous, but I just wanted to visit my mother’s grave.”

She looked down and then turned back towards where she was watching the deer.

I thought about how fate worked in such mysterious ways that it introduced me to her so many years ago and then brought her back into my life again. I wasn’t going to risk another ten years of not finding her again.

“I returned to those cliffs hoping to see you again.”

“Why?” she asked. “You’ve never seen a girl climb a sea stack before?”

“It has nothing to do with that. I think I returned for the same reason I found you now. We’re meant to be together. I can feel it. Every part of me says you belong to me.”

She turned and looked at me for a moment then back towards the clearing.

“I’m not a chattel. I don’t belong to anyone.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said.

“Shh! There he is. I knew he’d be back,” she said as she flashed me a grin with her glowing amber eyes.

“Wait,” I said. “Will you tell me your name?”

“Ainsley Drummond. And you’re Bran MacCulloch.”

She changed into her wolf form and leapt towards the deer. The deer bounced out of the clearing and back into the woods, but Ainsley didn’t follow it. Instead, she turned back towards me and then left in the other direction.

I turned and walked back towards the area my clan was hunting in. Imagining the feel of her hand on my chest, I stayed in human form. I didn’t want to forget her warmth.

A familiar wolf loped closer to where I was standing. “You met someone, didn’t you?” Donal said as he changed into his human form.

“She’s remarkable,” I said. “She’s even a hunter.”

“Aye, the Drummond girl,” Donal said.

“You know her?” I asked.

“Of course. She’s the only lass who enters these parts of the woods.”

“She hunts like a man,” I said, looking towards the direction of the deer.

“She’s named for a man, too. I heard her father was hoping for a son and when he didn’t get one, he raised one anyway.”

“I saw her long ago, at Handa, and never forgot about her. Her soul speaks to mine.”

“You must be drunk,” he said as he clapped his hand on my shoulder with a laugh. “Besides, she knows better than to mingle with the likes of us. Her father is clan chief, and he’d never allow it.”

“Just as my father wouldn’t,” I said. “Our clans are apparently old foes.”

***

Later that night after tossing and turning in my cot, I looked out the small window of my family’s cottage. The night was clear but moonless, making it seem darker than it should have been.

I couldn’t sleep. The only thing I was capable of doing was thinking about her. Ainsley Drummond. I wasn’t going to wait any longer to see her again.

Stepping out into the cool air, I changed into my wolf. My village was asleep as I knew hers would be, too. A run would help clear my mind and bring me closer to her.

Chapter Four

Ainsley

The sound of a howling wolf woke me from my sleep. I let my eyes adjust to the dark and waited. I knew the wolf would howl again. It was Bran. I couldn’t explain how I knew, I just did.

Glancing across the room to where my father lay, I listened for the steady breath of sleep. I got out of bed in my long white kirtle and stood in front of the window, trying to spot him on the horizon. Was he out there? Or was I dreaming?

I was about to give up and return to bed when a howl broke the silence. I turned around and checked on my father, who was still deeply asleep. I could probably leave our cottage and he would never know I was gone.

Opening the large wooden door of our home, I stepped outside and quickly closed the door behind me, not wanting the cool air to wake my father. Stepping towards the shed where I had hidden my clothes plenty of times before, I was ready to change into my wolf form when I caught his scent.

I closed my eyes as I let his familiar scent surround me. It strengthened, and I knew he had changed to human form. I waited, listening for his bare feet, which hardly made a sound as he came up behind me.

I would never admit it to him, but I remembered him from that day long ago, too. I spotted him with his father all those years ago. He was the reason I never returned to my mother’s grave since. My father wouldn’t let me.

“Come with me,” Bran whispered, his warm breath against my neck sending chills through my body.

He picked me up, cradling me in his arms, and my arms went around his strong shoulders. I grinned at him as I remembered touching him in the forest earlier and how badly I wanted him then.

“The barn,” I said as I pointed to the slouching wooden structure. “There’s a blanket in there I sometimes nap on.”

We entered the barn and without putting me down, I grabbed an oil lamp and he walked to the far corner of the barn where none of the animals went. My wool blanket was still spread over the ground.

He set me on the ground gently, then turned on the oil lamp. It was dim enough that anyone outside wouldn’t notice a light on in the barn. He knelt in front of me on the blanket and I got on my knees to face him.

His body was chiseled and muscular with some dark hair on his chest. I reached up and pushed his wavy dark hair back, and our eyes met.

Bran’s eyes were a pale grey that reminded me of storm clouds, but it gave me nothing but comfort. As I lost myself in his gaze, he smiled and softly touched my cheek.

“I’ve dreamt about you my entire life,” he said.

He dipped his face down to mine, and his full lips closed over my mouth. His hands cupped my face as his tongue slipped between my lips.

The kiss made me dizzy. I moved my hands behind his neck to keep my balance. I didn’t want him to stop, but he pulled away. With his forehead against mine, he looked deep into my eyes.

“Say something, Ainsley,” he said. “Anything. Tell me you feel the same, tell me you hate me. I just need to hear your voice.”

“I hate you,” I said as I pulled off my kirtle. “I hate you for taking so long to find me.”

Moving his arm behind my head, we laid down on the blanket. My head nestled on his shoulder as his arm curved down along my back and held me tightly against his body. I had never felt so secure before.

His lips met mine again and the barn vanished. It didn’t matter where I was, I was with him. He pulled me closer to him, pressing my breasts against his chest. I held onto him tightly, wanting to feel as much of him against me as I could.

Releasing me a bit, his lips traveled to my neck and shivers ran through my body. As he kissed my neck, his hand moved down my side to my hip and he pulled my hips closer to his, letting me feel his hardness pressed against me. His hand slid further down over my thigh until his fingers clasped me tightly and he pulled my leg up towards his hip.

His lips came back to mine and I ran my palm along the rough stubble of his chin. Bran pulled back and our eyes met again. He pushed back my long hair from my face and then traced my face with his fingertips.

“I know it sounds crazy, Ainsley, and I know you don’t know me, but know that I will never hurt you. You are the other part of me and without you, I’m nothing.”

“I do know you,” I said. “I’ve always known you. You are my mate, my one love. Fate brought us together and nothing will ever come between us.”

Chapter Five

Bran

Present Day, Leeds Point

“Bran? You okay?” Rafael asked, his voice full of concern.

I blinked and focused on the man in front of me. It was disappointing to not still be in that barn all those years ago.

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about her,” I said.

“I was wondering where you went. What happened when you went to her that night?”

My memories filled me once more, but I was too much of a gentleman to tell anyone those details. I smiled at my new friend, and he laughed and nodded as he filled a frosted mug with more beer.

“We knew our families would never understand. Both of our fathers were so stuck in the past as feuding clans. They wouldn’t be able to see the love we had for each other. So we met in secret.

“Each day, we would sneak through the woods to meet. We couldn’t be without each other, and every day the time we spent apart became worse. I wanted nothing more than to marry Ainsley and be with her forever, but neither of us had told our families about each other.

“My father despised Clan Drummond for reasons I would never understand. For years after the wolf hunts had begun, I tried to convince my father that joining our clan with theirs would help protect our kind, but he wouldn’t hear any of it. If he wouldn’t join our clans for protection, there was no way he would let our clans join for love.”

Chapter Six

Bran

Mid-1500s, Scotland

The sun was beginning to set, turning the sky a fiery red that made me think of Ainsley’s hair. I couldn’t believe how different she made me. I was incomplete without her before, now I was whole.

As my twenty-first birthday approached, my father had been reminding me of my duties to the clan and how I would one day lead them. None of it mattered to me anymore. His talks only served as a reminder that Ainsley and I shouldn’t be together. But I didn’t care about that anymore. I was a man, and as a man I was going to make my own decisions.

Our clan was already closing their doors and heading inside for the night. Several torches lit our small village as we waited for any stray hunters to return. I could see the sway of a candle in my home as my mother cleaned up after my father.

Something felt different when I entered the house. This was my home, yet I felt as though my decision to tell them about Ainsley had already changed that. I banged the heels of my boots on the doorway to remove any excess mud. It was a habit my mother instilled in me when I was young, and as I did it, she gave me a wistful smile as if it reminded her of something long ago.

“Didya eat, Bran?” she asked.

“I’m fine, I just want to talk. Is Father here?”

Her brow wrinkled and her eyes narrowed a bit, but she didn’t ask what was on my mind. Turning away, she pointed outside.

“He’s checking on the mare again. Seems a stone is caught in her hoof and she won’t let your father near it.”

“Can you come, too?” I asked as I opened the door again. “I’d like to speak to you both.”

“Of course,” she said as she grabbed her shawl and followed me out the door.

As we entered the barn, the horse snorted at my father and backed away. With the light of day disappearing, the horse would only get more spooked by my father’s impatience, a trait which was unfortunately handed down to me.

Sighing, I stepped between my father and the horse and put my hand on his neck. The large animal felt tense. Looking at his hoofs, I noticed he kept raising one briefly off the ground.

“You’re going to spook him,” my father said. “I can handle this.”

“It’s getting dark, and he’s never liked you,” I said.

Gently stroking his neck, the animal dipped his head down as if giving me permission. I stepped around to the hoof and placed my hand on it, waiting for him to either lift it or knock me away. Based on the hay in my father’s hair, he had been knocked away a lot.

The horse lifted its hoof, and I quickly grabbed a brush to clear away some mud. Wedged into the curve of his hoof was a sharp stone. When I touched it, the horse pulled his hoof away but lifted it again. Slowly shifting the stone, I was able to dislodge it.

“I warmed him up for you, lad,” my father said with a grin.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, giving my parents a serious look.

“Is something the matter?”

“I’m going to ask for a woman’s hand in marriage. I’m in love.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” my mother said, her face lighting up. “Is it the Fraiser girl? I’ve seen how she looks at you.”

“No, it’s not. She’s not from our clan. Her name is Ainsley Drummond.”

“A Drummond? You know better than that!” my father roared.

“I love her, and I don’t care about whatever past our families have. What I care about is her.”

“You have to forget about her, Bran,” my mother said softly, her eyes cast down towards the floor.

“Forget about her? She’s all I can think about,” I said.

“I told you it was wrong to not tell him something sooner,” my father said.

“Tell me what?”

“Bran, please listen,” my mother said as my father paced the dirt floor of the barn. “Clan Drummond is...different from us.”

“They’re not different,” I said. “They’re a clan of shifters, no different than we are. As a matter of fact, when I come into power and am called to lead the clan, I’m going to make sure that whatever feud is over between us. We need to help protect each other now that the humans are hunting wolves.”

“This has nothing to do with being shifters,” my father said.

“Then what?”

“She will only cause you heartache. I’m trying to protect you from that.”

“You don’t even know her.”

“I know she’s not one of us,” my father said as he stormed out of the barn.

I turned to follow him, wanting to fight. How could he say that about Ainsley? He didn’t know her. Just as I was ready to go after him, my mother put her hand on my arm.

“Bran, listen to me.”

Her brown eyes begged for my attention. I nodded and turned to face her. She was my mother, and I would listen to whatever she had to say.

“Your father wanted to tell you so many years ago, but the clan decided back then that we would not reveal the truth about us until the time was right. We wanted our children to grow and be strong and happy. None of the clan wanted them to be weighed down with this curse.”

“Curse? What are you talking about?” I asked.

“None of us know how it really happened, but Clan MacCulloch was cursed centuries ago. It’s why we forbade anyone to marry or associate with Clan Drummond even though they’re the nearest to us. You were born and have grown like any other person, but now that you’ve reached adulthood, you will stop aging.”

“That’s absurd!”

“Stop, Bran. Just please listen. Our clan cannot die. There are others out there who are like us, but Clan Drummond is not one of them. If you were to marry her, she would age and you wouldn’t. You and your children would still look young as she died of old age. I couldn’t bear for you to experience that. None of us wanted that for our children, so we told all of you about the war against Clan Drummond. It was for the best.”

My mind spun. How was any of that possible? I searched my mother’s face, and for the first time I realized she didn’t have any of the fine lines or grey hair I had seen on other women when I went to war. None of our clan had that.

My mother’s words swam in my head. I imagined my children surrounding their frail mother, watching her move closer to her death every day as she aged. It wasn’t something I wanted them to experience. It wasn’t something I wanted to experience.

“Then when I lead the clan, I’ll end this for good,” I said. “There will be no more children, no more births for Clan MacCulloch. This line ends with me.”

I heard a sound outside the barn, and the strong scent of raspberries drifted in. Ainsley! Why was she here?

Tearing out of the barn, I spotted a silver wolf racing towards the trees. Letting my kilt drop as I pulled off my shirt, I quickly changed into my wolf form. What did she hear? Why was she running?

Speeding through the village, I tried to cut her off, but she was too fast. I let out several barks, but they were stifled by the wind. I had to catch her. If she entered the trees at this hour of night, I might never find her.

I raced as fast as I could, but I was too far from her and couldn’t catch up. As she approached the edge of the forest, she looked back and her eyes flashed their natural green color briefly before she entered the trees and I lost her.

I entered the forest, but it was too dark. I couldn’t see and it was too dangerous to go further in. I let out a long howl that echoed against the landscape. The sound was returned by others of my kind, but not her.

Moving deeper into the woods, my footing slipped. She was more familiar with the forest, and with her lead, I knew it was hopeless. I wouldn’t find her unless she wanted to be found. I had to be patient and hope she’d return to me.

As the night covered the land and the moon rose, I made my way to Clan Drummond’s village and waited. Her scent wasn’t there. Several groups of people came out with torches and I knew they were searching for her, but she never came back.

***

It had been a fortnight since I saw Ainsley run into the forest. I held a nightly vigil in wolf form on a crag above her village, waiting for her to return. But she didn’t. Her clan never acknowledged me. I might as well be invisible. And maybe I was. I didn’t feel like I deserved to live anymore if Ainsley wasn’t part of my life.

But why would she run? What happened to make her leave? I replayed the conversation my mother and I had in my mind, and I could only blame my immortality. Ainsley must not have wanted to be part of such a horrific curse. Who would want to live forever?

As the sun began to set, I waited for her clan to light the torches as they did every night so Ainsley could find her way home. That night, they didn’t. What was wrong with these people? Did they give up on her? Or did she come back without my knowing?

The snap of a twig behind me told me I wasn’t alone. Only one person was brave enough to bother me these days. Donal was slowly making his way to where I was seated. He grunted as he climbed the rock and sat beside me, then shifted into his human form.

“Bran--”

Quickly shifting back, I interrupted him before he could say anything.

“Did you hear something? Is she okay?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said. “There was a hunt several nights ago, and word is that a silver-maned wolf was killed. I spoke to several clansmen and the wolf they described sounds just like Ainsley.”

“No!” I roared. “It’s not true!”

“You know it’s true. Look at her village. The torches aren’t lit. She’s dead, Bran.”

Donal continued speaking, but I didn’t hear anything else he said. Ainsley meant everything to me. As long as I believed she was out there, I had hope I would find her. If she was dead, then so was I.

***

Present Day, Leeds Point, NJ

Rafael’s eyes were riveted on my face. His mouth frowned a bit at the corners. He reached down and grabbed a short glass he flipped onto the bar, then reached over for a bottle of Glenfiddich scotch. He poured the dark amber liquid and set it in front of me.

“I left my clan after that. I couldn’t bear to stay when everything reminded me of her. The pain of losing her was worse than anything I could ever imagine. I didn’t want to live anymore, but I couldn’t die.”

I picked up the glass and sniffed in the woody scent of the alcohol.

“Is this your first time in Leeds Point?” he asked.

I laughed. “Oddly enough, no. I didn’t make my way to the new world for centuries. But somehow since I’ve been out here, I keep returning to this strange, run-down town. No offense.”

“None taken. I’m sure you can tell by my accent that I’m not originally from here either. My girlfriend believes this town is some kind of beacon for the paranormal. She would say that’s why you keep coming back here.”

“This time is different though,” I said. “I only came here because I caught her scent. I don’t know how it’s possible since she’s been gone for so long, but... I just don’t know. I guess I still have hope. Maybe after all these years, I’ve finally lost my mind.”

“Come with me to see Pinky. Or I can have her come here. I know she would love to hear your story. Her family is one of the oldest in this town, and she has extensive records of the comings and goings of all kinds of people in Leeds Point, especially shifters. Maybe she knows something.”

“It’s not possible. Ainsley died in Scotland over four hundred years ago. She has nothing to do with New Jersey.”

“Then just come with me because it’ll make Pinky happy,” he said.

My brow wrinkled as I looked at him. He had to be crazy or really in love with his mate to push for me to meet her, but something was telling me to listen.

“Aye, you twisted my arm,” I said.

“Listen to me, Bran. I’m not like this. I don’t befriend just anyone, and I’m not the type of bartender people tell their stories to. But I think sometimes fate works in ways we can’t understand.”

Fate. The word had come up so many times in my life that I didn’t know whether to embrace it or hate it. Was it fate that I met Ainsley? Or did fate take her away? Fate had one more chance to prove itself.

As much as I didn’t want to, I was optimistic about meeting Pinky. Maybe I kept returning to Leeds Point for a reason. Perhaps I wasn’t going crazy after all and Pinky would have an answer for why I caught Ainsley’s scent here after all these years.

Chapter Seven

Bran

Something big was going to happen, I could feel it in my veins. The excitement, the rush, I didn’t know what to expect, but I felt going with Rafael to see Pinky was a step in the right direction.

I followed Rafael’s black Camaro through the small streets near Night Shift and back onto the highway. After a few short minutes, we turned into an area of small houses that felt familiar to me although I didn’t remember being there before.

He parked his car on the hill of a driveway in front of a pale yellow house with a faded sign in front that said ‘Smythe’s Nursery School’. I thought it was odd for it to still be called that. One of the things I learned quickly while trying to fit in with each modern age was that the names of things constantly changed.

I stopped my car at the curb. As I exited the car, a tall woman with bright blue hair stepped out of the house. She was dressed very casually in a pair of jeans and an old grey sweatshirt, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She had such a youthfulness about her that if it wasn’t for her height, I might have thought she was one of the school children.

She let out a yawn and stepped barefoot towards Rafael, keeping her eyes on me. In my life, I had come across all kinds of creatures, both fantastic and mundane, but none like her. She was a different kind of human.

“Rafael, you know I’m not a morning person,” she said with a lopsided grin.

“I know, but you’ve been doing a lot of research lately and I thought you’d want to hear this,” he said. “Pinky, this is Bran MacCulloch. He’s--”

“Wait, MacCulloch? Are you serious?” she said, turning towards me.

“You’ve heard of my clan?” I asked.

“I don’t know anything about clans, but I know your name. It’s been driving me crazy for weeks now. This is too much of a coincidence. Please, come in. Maybe you can help me make sense of this.”

We followed Pinky into the house and down the steps into an outdated office. There were boxes with a strange symbol on them stacked along one of the walls, and piles of paper were haphazardly scattered everywhere.

Pinky went behind the desk and rolled the chair out of her way as she reached for a smaller stack of paper on the center of the desk. She motioned for us to sit on the long couch, then pulled over a box and set the stack on top of it before looking at me again.

“I’m sorry, Bran,” she said. “I’ve been so focused on this lately that I seem to have lost my manners. I don’t even know why you’re here. Rafael doesn’t usually bring strange men to see me.”

“I wanted you to hear his story, Pinky,” Rafael said. “I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

“My research can definitely wait. If you’d like to tell me, I’d love to hear your story, Bran. I can tell you’re not from around here.”

“Well, I don’t know that my story is very special to be honest,” I said. “The only thing that anyone might find fascinating is how long I’ve lived.”

Pinky’s face changed. Her eyes narrowed and she bit her bottom lip. I wondered if she could read minds or if my hint was too obvious.

“Go on,” she said. “I’m sure Rafael has already told you about Leeds Point. About how it’s a magnet for anything paranormal and always has been.”

“I told him that’s what you believe, yes,” Rafael said.

“He’s always trying to start something with me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just because I can’t prove it doesn’t mean it’s not true. Look at how many shifters we have here, and that’s on top of the ghosts, witches, and who knows what else. Please tell me you’re a vampire, Bran. I’ve been dying to meet one.”

“They can be the death of you, you know,” I said as she rolled her eyes. “But no, I am just another shifter.”

“How old are you?” she asked.

“I’ve lost count, but I believe I’m around four hundred and fifty years old.”

“You’re immortal?” she gasped, her eyes widening as she grabbed her stack of paper. “That’s brilliant! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”

Her stack of paper was broken in three parts with a different color paperclip holding each part together. Each file looked identical as she moved them into place.

“I’ve been doing a census of all the people who have lived in Leeds Point,” she said. “Honestly, I have no idea how my father gets some of this information. Anyway, I have these three files that don’t make sense to me.”

She picked up the first one and held it up.

“We don’t have the original records anymore, but what we do have shows a MacCulloch arrived here in the late 1700s,” she said. She put down the stack and picked up the other two. “Then we have him arriving again in the early 1900s. I had just come across this file when my father gave me a new one last week. MacCulloch is back.”

“I’m sure MacCulloch isn’t that odd of a name,” I said.

“Probably not, but what are the chances that each of these has the same names on it? It’s been driving me crazy. I thought maybe there was an error somewhere, but if you’re immortal, then maybe there are others with your name who are, too.”

I nodded slowly as I wondered who from my clan had come all the way to this small state. “Can I ask what his name is?”

“Sure,” she said as she put the files back on top of each other. “His name is Callen MacCulloch.”

“Hmm, I was hoping it was familiar. I didn’t know it as a child, but I come from a clan of immortals. I left them long ago though and haven’t run into another since. It could just be a strange coincidence.”

Even as I said the words, Ainsley’s memory came into my mind. But she was a Drummond, so she wasn’t immortal. Even if the wolf the hunters killed wasn’t her, she would have died a very long time ago.

Pinky set the files down on the seat between us. I picked up the top one, with the oldest date, but it didn’t have much information on it.

“Do you have his parents’ names? Maybe I know them,” I said, shrugging.

She looked at the top sheet of one of the other files and moved her finger down the page. When she found what she was looking for, she tapped the filled box on the page.

“No parents, but he has a sister,” she said as she took the file from me and then grabbed the last file. “How did I miss this? He has a sister listed each time, but they don’t share a last name. Nowadays that’s not that odd, but back then it was. I wonder why we don’t have a file on her. Could I have missed it?”

She stood and started looking through an open box, pulling out files as she made room to look for others.

“She can be part of Clan MacCulloch and not have our last name. There were a few families that still carried their old surname back when my father was chief. What’s her last name?”

“Drummond,” Pinky said as she opened another box.

Hearing the surname of my love knocked the wind out of me. I wanted to leave and forget I heard it. For a moment I thought Ainsley could still be alive, but it simply wasn’t possible.

“Drummond?” Rafael said as he grabbed one of the files we had been looking at before. “Pinky, what’s her first name? I can’t find it on here.”

Pinky knitted her brows as she turned away from the box and looked at Rafael. Then her gaze turned to me.

“Did I miss something?” she asked.

“Dammit Pinky, just tell us her name,” Rafael said as he thrust the file in his hand towards her. “Bran came here because he followed a scent. He’s a wolf, remember? But his mate died in the fifteen hundreds.”

“You caught her scent?” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me? I don’t need to look it up, I remember her name. It’s hard to forget the name Ainsley.”

“It’s even harder to forget the woman,” I said as I shook my head. “This is too much. I have to leave. I can’t take any more grief and disappointment. Someone must be using her name.”

“No, Bran,” Pinky said. “I got this file last week. That means she’s here. Call me crazy, but how could someone use her scent? You followed it, didn’t you?”

Pinky was right, but it didn’t make any sense. How was she still alive? Everything Pinky said came together and I realized that all these years, Ainsley had been traveling with a man. Callen MacCulloch. The thief not only stole my last name, but my woman, too.

“Where is she?” I demanded as I grabbed the files.

I threw aside the two older ones and looked down the one Pinky received a week ago until I found an address.

“Take me to 32 Lakeview Drive,” I said, standing.

I left the room and walked out of the house. There was no need for any other words. Rafael followed, and behind him Pinky scrambled to keep up. She jumped into Rafael’s car as he put it into reverse and I followed him back onto the main road towards a newer section of town I had never been to before.

The scent of raspberries filled the car, and I knew we were close. My heart thumped in my chest and for the first time in hundreds of years, I felt truly alive.

Seeing the street sign ahead, my foot pressed harder on the gas. I passed Rafael and found the house, barely putting the car in park before stepping out.

It was a small cottage-style house with a stone front that reminded me of the home she lived in with her father. The home was exactly what I would have built for her if she had become my bride. I stared at the house for a moment, inhaling the scent of raspberries I knew no one else could smell. I can’t believe it, I thought. How can she still be alive?

Rafael parked his car behind mine as I walked up to the house. I wanted to yank the door off its hinges and find my love, but I had to be civil. I didn’t want to draw attention in such a quiet neighborhood.

I rang the doorbell, listened to the delicate chime, and waited. I couldn’t have waited more than a minute, but it felt like I was reliving all four hundred and fifty years of my life all over again.

The door opened, and a man with chin-length wavy black hair and green eyes stood on the other side. He was as tall and broad shouldered as I was, and I immediately despised him.

The wolf within me howled loudly. I gritted my teeth, trying to control my temper, but it was useless. I pulled him out of the house by his shoulders and pressed him against the house.

“Who the hell are you, and why are you with my woman?” I said.

His eyes flashed amber and as his hands came up towards my chest, I caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of my eye.

“Stop!” a voice from inside the house yelled.

I didn’t change positions. I kept the man pressed against the wall, and he didn’t try to move. We both looked inside the house as she moved towards the doorway.

She wore jeans and a green knit top. Her hair was dark red and wild, but with the slightest touch of grey. Small wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes as she narrowed her dark green gaze at me. It was my Ainsley.

“How can it be?” I whispered.

“Let him go, Bran,” she said softly as she put her hand on my arm.

I released the man and swept Ainsley up in my arms. I didn’t care who he was, she would always be my one love. Pressing her tightly against me, I felt her heart beating wildly against mine as she clung to me.

A soft cry escaped her lips, and I felt her tears moisten my shirt. She wrapped her arms around me even tighter as I buried my face in her neck. I left Scotland long ago, but now in her arms I was home.

The man entered the house, and I let out a low growl. Ainsley pushed herself away from me and laughed.

“You’re jealous,” she said.

“I never stopped thinking about you all of these years. And now that I see you’re still alive, you’re living with another man,” I said. “Jealous doesn’t begin to describe how I’m feeling.”

“Come inside and I’ll explain everything over breakfast,” she said, then looked behind me at Rafael and Pinky. “And bring your friends.”

“Come inside? You want me to break bread with your…with this man?” I said angrily.

“I want you to break bread with my son,” she said. “With our son.”

Chapter Eight

Ainsley

I entered the crowded kitchen behind everyone. Even after so many years of living, I still woke before the break of dawn and made breakfast. Callen always teased me that I made enough to feed an army. Today, I had just enough for everyone.

The five of us sat at the long wooden table that made up the dining room. I sat in my seat at the head of the table and on either side of me were my two men, my son and my Bran.

“I never thought the day would come when I would see my son sitting with his father,” I said.

Happiness didn’t describe how I felt, it wasn’t a big enough word. In Scotland we called it àigh, but even that didn’t come close to all the wonderful feelings I was experiencing. My blood pumped as my heart raced at the sight of Bran. Every bit of me ached to be held by him again, but there was so much to say and so much to explain.

“I never thought I would see you again,” Bran said. “You were so upset that night you came to my village. I don’t know what happened. If I knew then I would never see you again, I would have run into the woods after you. I would have risked my life for just another moment with you.”

“I’ll explain it all soon, my love,” I said. “There is so much I have to tell you, but please, just for now, let me sit and look at the two of you here with me. My two men.”

I reached out to both of them and held each of their hands in mine. It was amazing to me how much Callen looked like his father. As Callen grew, I was always reminded of my love for Bran because I saw him reflected in my child every day. Unfortunately, there were other things he inherited from the MacCulloch clan.

“How can this be, Ainsley? How is he my child? How are you still alive?” Bran asked as he looked from me, to Callen, then back at me again. As our eyes met, I felt that connection and comfort that I never felt all these years that I was away from him.

“I could stare into your eyes for the rest of my life,” I said. “There’s so much to tell you. I wish I could just pass it along to you with just a look or a touch so we could move on with our lives and finally be together as we were always meant to be.”

I let go of Bran’s and Callen’s hands and sat back in my chair. Looking down the table, my eyes were drawn to the human, Pinky Smythe.

“You know, there was a time where a human wouldn’t dare to lower themselves and dine with shifters.”

“I think even if I lived back then, or in any place that still carries that hatred, I would consider it an honor as I do now,” Pinky said.

I smiled at her, remembering the woman in the past who held Pinky’s position. They were very similar in their mannerisms, but it wasn’t the time for that.

My eyes were pulled back to Bran. I thought about his questions and wished there was an easier way to tell him. Even after all these years, I felt so stupid for running away from him that night.

“I’m sorry, Bran,” I said. “If I had only stayed, we could have been so happy together, we would have had all of this time together.” I shook my head. “But that’s only what I want to believe. What happened to us was fate, and had I stayed, things would have gotten worse. Your clan is cursed, my love. Even our son has had to endure that.”

“What do you mean? Our immortality?” Bran asked.

“Worse than that,” I said. “There’s nothing worse than living forever without your one love.”

Chapter Nine

Ainsley

Mid-1500s, Scotland

For weeks, I had been hiding something from Bran and my father. For the first time in my life, I understood the only shortcoming of my father was that he wasn’t a woman. It was something he always lamented. He wished my mother had survived my birth, but until recently, I never missed having one.

Now my body was changing. My bosom was expanding and my waist felt tighter. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it, but deep down I knew I was with child.

The sun was already beginning to set when I made the trek from my village to Bran’s. Many women wouldn’t go out alone at night, but I knew there was nothing to fear. If I needed to, I could change into a wolf and no one would be able to catch me.

As part of Clan Drummond, I wasn’t allowed to be in Clan MacCulloch’s territory. The bad blood between the clans was so old I didn’t think anyone knew what the fighting was about anymore. Luckily, Bran’s family lived near the edge of the woods that separated our villages.

I didn’t know what his clan would do if they found me, but I had to talk to Bran. The fluttering in my stomach gave certainty to my feelings and I wanted him to know. I knew he would be as happy and excited as I was.

Before stepping out of the woods, I undressed in a thickly wooded area and hid my dress. Not wanting anyone to see me, I changed into the wolf that was second nature to me. Not wanting to make much sound, I chose my footing carefully and avoided any loose rocks.

As I approached his home, I heard voices coming from the barn and knew one of them was Bran’s. I had never heard him sound so angry before. Staying in the shadows, I crept towards the open barn door.

“Then when I lead the clan, I’ll end this for good,” Bran said. “There will be no more children, no more births for Clan MacCulloch. This line ends with me.”

I stepped back and knocked into a butter churn. In my head, I clutched at my stomach, trying to protect the unborn babe inside of me. What was he saying? No children?

The sound of boots along the dirt floor of the barn reminded me I wasn’t safe. Coming to Bran was a bad idea. No matter how much I loved him, I would do anything to keep my baby safe. Even if that meant leaving.

My hind paws dug into the dirt as they pushed me forward and away from the barn. Bran’s scent filled me and I turned quickly to see him stepping out of the barn. The tartan of his kilt reminded me that we weren’t meant to be together.

I ran even faster. I had to reach the trees. Once I was there, I could safely hide until...

Until what? Bran would go to my village to find me, and they would know that I had brought them shame. I knew better than to have anything to do with someone from Clan MacCulloch. I should have never given him my heart.

Entering the trees, I made a series of quick turns to make sure he couldn’t follow me and then dove under a low-lying tree near my clothing. Huddling in a corner covered in dirt and leaves, I changed back to human form.

Biting my lip, I fought the tears and cries that wanted to escape me. Bran was so close, but he wouldn’t enter the woods. He knew he would never find me in them.

I reached out and yanked my wool tunic out of its hiding place and held it to me like a blanket. The tears finally spilled from my eyes as I gently rocked myself, trying to find some comfort.

I couldn’t think straight. The only words I knew for certain were ones that said my beloved didn’t want what I had growing inside me. I refused to bring shame to my father and I refused to return to a man who wouldn’t accept my child. Our child.

Pushing a deep breath out of my mouth, I felt stronger. I was strong. It didn’t matter that I was a woman. I would raise my child and care for him any way I could. Just as my father didn’t need a woman’s help, I didn’t need a man’s. The woods had always been kind to me and if I was lucky, they would help me now when I needed it most.

Gathering my courage, I pulled my shift on and went further into the woods. The darkness and uneven terrain would have been easier to cross as a wolf, but I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself. With each change, my scent grew. It was part of being a shifter none of us could control. I knew Bran was close and if he caught my scent, he would follow me.

I carefully followed the trees I used as markers in the woods. They looked different at night, but I knew they would bring me to the small clearing where Bran found me following the deer.

As I got closer to the clearing, I heard a strange noise that suddenly stopped. I stood still, standing beside a nearby tree, and listened carefully as I held my breath. I didn’t know who or what else could be in the woods, but I prayed it wouldn’t put me in danger.

I moved closer to the large tree and leaned against it, hoping to get some rest. The sound I heard appeared again. It started as barely a breeze and then grew louder. It was music, but it was unlike anything I had ever heard before.

The music called to me, begging me to join. I followed the sound and it brought me closer to the clearing. Instead of being dark, the clearing was lit by tiny colorful lights. A deer sprang out from behind the tree.

Standing within reach was the largest deer I had ever seen. The deer was as tall as a horse and with its head and antlers held high above mine, it was just as impressive. Behind the deer, the tiny lights danced and weaved. The deer lowered its head and shoulders as if bowing to me before it entered the clearing.

I moved closer to the edge of the woods. Once the deer was away from the trees, its fur took on a silvery hue and became white. I gasped in surprise as I realized it was the white stag. I had to be dreaming, but never had I felt more awake.

There had always been tales about the woods, but I never really listened or believed them. I began to regret that. I searched my mind for stories about the white stag as I watched him prance with the lights, but all I could remember was that the white stag was a messenger from the Otherworld.

I sat on the cool ground and crossed my legs underneath me as I watched the stag dance with the lights. I had nowhere else to go. There has to be a reason why I’m seeing this, I thought.

One of the lights left the dance and turned in my direction. It grew as it moved closer to me, but I didn’t feel any fear. The light became brighter as it grew and I covered my eyes, unable to look at it anymore.

When I opened my eyes again, a small, old woman stood in front of me. She was hunched over and was wearing a long white robe. She had kind, watery eyes that were a similar yellow to our shifter eyes but had a hint of green. Her skin was wrinkled and her cheeks were hollowed with age. She smiled at me as her bony hand disappeared into her robe.

As I stared at her, my eyes wide and curious, she pulled out a ball of red yarn from her pocket. She held it up to me between her hands and then fished the end out of it.

The yarn rose slightly into the air and spun slowly, unraveling the end until it landed at my feet.

Follow.

I heard the word whispered, but the old woman’s thin lips never moved. Behind her, the dance had stopped and the white stag nibbled on the grass. Looking around, I realized the sky had begun to lighten. How long had I been sitting there?

Follow.

The word was whispered again, but I knew I was only hearing it in my mind. The old woman stretched out a long finger and pointed at my stomach.

For him. Follow.

I stood and looked down at the limp red thread lying on the grass. The woman started walking further towards the clearing, the ball of yarn still floating above one of her hands. This has to be the strangest dream I’ve ever had, I thought. But I knew it was real.

Tiny flutters began in my stomach and I put my hand over it to calm them, or him as the woman said. I didn’t know what was going on. Should I follow her? If I didn’t, where would I go? I ran to protect my baby, but I didn’t know how.

Morning is near. Follow.

I stepped into the clearing, onto the red thread, and the earth dropped out from under me. I tried to scream as my arms flailed. I reached out into the darkness but there was nothing there, no ground, no sky, nothing to keep me in place. There was nothing to keep me from falling.

I tried to shift into my wolf, thinking it would better protect me. But nothing happened. I called to the wolf that existed within me, but it didn’t respond.

Take the thread.

Although I couldn’t see her, I heard her whisper as clearly as before. The thread appeared in the emptiness and I leapt towards it, grabbing it with my hand.

A gust of wind whipped past me, forcing me to close my eyes. When I opened them, it was daylight and I was lying on a bed of green moss. I couldn’t see very far because a low stone wall blocked my view.

There was a calm to the air. As I stood, I gasped at the openness of the land. Beyond the fence were rolling fields of heather. And just beyond them was a lake so clear it reflected the blue sky.

I heard a sound behind me and turned to find the old woman dressed in a loose grey tunic made of thick wool. She was sweeping the entryway of a cozy cottage with a thatched roof and stone walls. It reminded me of the home I had shared with my father.

As I approached, she looked up at me and smiled. Resting the broom against the wall, she motioned for me to come in.

It was a one-room cottage with a cot in the corner and a couple of wooden chairs and a table. A kettle hung over the fire and she used a hook to pull it out, then poured some of the hot liquid into a mug.

“Please sit,” she said, her voice raspy as she spoke aloud for the first time. “You and your baby are safe here. This can be your home if you choose to stay.”

She put the mug on the table next to a plate of bread and mutton. I clutched my stomach as it churned hungrily.

“I can’t impose on you,” I said. “I don’t even know you.”

“Please, Ainsley. You have to stay. It’s my fault you’re in this predicament.”

“What are you talking about? How is any of this your fault?”

“My name is Gracelin Barrach. You might know me better as the Banshee of the Glen.”

Chapter Ten

Ainsley

“The Banshee of the Glen is a myth,” I said, my brow wrinkling with confusion.

“I wish it was. Alas, you being here is proof that it isn’t. If it wasn’t for me, you would be happy together with your Bran.”

“What do you have to do with me and Bran?”

“I’m the reason you cannot be together. The MacCulloch clan is cursed, you see. And what has been cursed cannot be uncursed.”

I felt anger growing inside me. What did she mean it was her fault? What did she have to do with Bran? There was nothing she could have done that would make him say the things I heard.

“You’re crazy,” I said, standing from the small wooden chair. “I think I’d best be going.”

“I can help you return if that’s your choice, but please hear me out first. I think once I explain, everything will become clear.”

I crammed a piece of bread into my mouth as I looked into her eyes. They weren’t the same color as they were in the clearing, but they were still strange. They seemed more youthful and were a bright green I remembered hearing only witches had.

Looking down at the table, I grabbed a piece of mutton and quickly ate it. I didn’t have any other place to go, and it wasn’t just about me anymore. I had to think about my child. I met her eyes once more and slowly nodded.

“I’ll listen,” I said as I sat down again.

“Excellent.”

She cleared her throat and sat down on a chair facing the table. She pulled out a piece of tartan that I recognized as belonging to Clan MacCulloch with its navy and white plaid. Flipping the fabric over, she revealed a symbol made of basket weave knots with wolves facing each other.

“This piece of tartan is the only thing I have left of him,” she said. “He was my one love, my everything, and he told me I was his, too. But he lied.”

A mixture of anger and hurt crossed her face. Her green eyes suddenly flashed amber and I wondered if she was going to turn into a wolf, but instead her skin smoothed. Her cheeks filled with youthfulness and her hair darkened from white to a dark red. By the time she smiled again, Gracelin had changed from an old woman to a beautiful young one.

“I was a beauty,” she said. “Men from clans far and wide came to ask my father for my hand in marriage, but he respected and loved me as his only daughter and knew I was in love with another. His name was Niall MacCulloch, an ancestor to your Bran. He had the dark wavy hair your Bran had but with eyes the color of night. Niall could have had any woman he wanted, but he said he wanted me.

“I was a fool. Niall was chief of the clan already and a brave fighter on top of it. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe him. I think I was blinded by my emotions as many in their youth are.

“But I can’t take all the blame,” she continued. “I believed his lies, but he only wanted me carnally and once he got that, I meant nothing to him.”

She stood, and her clothing hung from her. Not only had her face changed, but her body had, too. Gone was the shapeless body of the hag. It was replaced with the curves of a young woman. Tears filled her eyes and she turned away to look at the fire.

“You don’t have to tell me anymore about him,” I said. “He found another, didn’t he?”

She nodded, and I could see she was too choked up to say the words. As she cried, I heard a faint sound I couldn’t make out and strained to hear it.

My sister.

I felt bad for her, but I still didn’t see what any of this had to do with Bran and I.

“I was angry,” she whispered. “So very angry. I couldn’t help it. I cursed him and by extension, his entire clan. I didn’t know what I was doing though. I just wanted him to love me,” she choked.

She kept her back to me as her shoulders shook. Her cries filled the cottage, and sadness crashed over me. I thought about Bran’s words again and wondered what they meant.

“What happened?” I asked. “What did you do?”

“I don’t even remember the words,” she said, turning to face me. “All I know is because of what I said, Clan MacCulloch can never die. But not only that, those who find love among the other clans are destined for strife. They will never have the love they desire.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What do you mean? Bran can never die?”

“Oh, he can be killed. That’s for certain,” she said as she stroked a thick scar across her neck with her finger. “But he will never die of old age. He will never age.

“I cursed Niall so he wouldn’t be with her, but when I did it, I cursed the rest of his line. When a MacCulloch finds his mate in another clan, they will be torn apart.”

She was quiet for a moment as she stared back into the fire.

“Niall sent me to the Otherworld where I have spent many lifetimes waiting for him to realize his mistake, but he never came back for me. He spent his life looking for my sister and when he found out she died, he killed himself. I never realized how much he truly loved her. I was too young and jealous to recognize true love when it was right in front of me. It just wasn’t mine.

“That’s what happened to you and Bran,” she said. “When you overheard him, he had just learned about his immortality and he saw it for the curse it is. Realizing you would age and die before him was enough for him to declare he didn’t want that for anyone else, including his children.”

Bran’s words finally made sense. I stood up and walked to the door.

“I have to get back to him,” I said. “I have to tell him I’m having his child and explain what happened.”

“No, you can’t. If you care for that child inside you, you won’t go back to Bran.”

“Why not?”

“Because my tears are not for Niall, they are for that babe inside of you,” she said.

“He will die?”

“If you return, his death is certain. Your child will grow like other children. He will be susceptible to injuries and illness, even death. Once he reaches adulthood he will be immortal, but until then he is in danger.”

“But Bran will protect him,” I said.

“Bran has left. He believes you are dead and cannot stand to stay in the village that reminds him so much of you.”

“But I’m not dead. I have to stop him. I have to tell him I’m okay and he’s going to be a father.”

“No, you can’t,” she said. “The trip to the Otherworld took you two weeks to make. It’ll take another fortnight for you to return. He could be anywhere by then.”

Two weeks? I thought. Where did the time go? And what about Bran? I have to find him. He needed to know I was okay.

“You can’t find him?” I asked.

“I cannot find those who choose to be lost.”

I didn’t want to hear any more. I left the cottage for the some fresh air. As I stood outside, I looked around again and realized there was nothing else around us. I was in the Otherworld. The banshee probably made it look like Scotland, just like she was able to change her own appearance.

I walked into the heather and ran my fingers over the soft purple tips. I was trapped. If I returned to my village, it would disgrace my father. A daughter of Clan Drummond was impregnated by their foe, who was missing. I couldn’t do that to my father.

More importantly, I couldn’t push the banshee’s cries out of my head. I left Bran to protect my child. If I really wanted to protect him, then I needed to stay in the Otherworld.

The banshee appeared as an old woman again and walked into the field of heather. She was once again dressed in a long flowing white robe. In her hand was a ball of red yarn.

“We can return whenever you’re ready,” she said.

“No, I’m going to stay here. I’ll have my baby here and make a life for him until he’s old enough to safely leave.”

The banshee smiled and became young again.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” she said. “You’ll see your Bran again one day, Ainsley. I know it, I’ve seen it. You have lifetimes before you, but remember wherever you go, make sure you move before others grow suspicious.”

“Lifetimes? You must be mistaken. I’m not from Clan MacCulloch.”

“But that child inside you is, and he needs you. As he grows, you will change, too. You won’t be immortal, but you will age much more slowly. And trust me, that is to your benefit. You’ll spend centuries waiting for Bran, unaware of how close you two really are to each other.”

I didn’t care about how long I would live as long as one day Bran and I were together again. I was willing to wait however long that took.

Chapter Eleven

Ainsley

Present Day

I smiled at Bran and the rest of our company. Pinky and Rafael were entranced by my story. Their eyes never left me. Bran’s shoulders were weighed down and sadness covered his face. He looked down at the table, deep in thought, before looking up at Callen.

“You were raised by your mother and a banshee?” he asked. “How does a boy become a man without a man’s guidance?”

“How dare you, Bran MacCulloch!” I said indignantly as I stood from my seat. “I was a better hunter than you, and I was always faster, too. My father taught me all the things a man needed to know. I did what I had to do to protect him and us.”

I couldn’t believe that after all these years, Bran still had his Old World thoughts. I wanted to strangle him, but I knew his chauvinistic attitude was just his grasp on the past.

“I’m more of a man than you could ever understand,” Callen said. “Yes, I was taught how to hunt and how to be a wolf by a woman, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. It is because of her that I also know how to love, how to be gentle and kind, and when to shut up and listen.”

“I’m sorry,” Bran said. “I said the wrong thing. I’m angry that I wasn’t there to see you grow, to help teach you things a father teaches his son. You’re right, my thinking is archaic. I come from a time when men and women had their place, whether it was right or not. I’ve spent my life wandering and alone, a nomad. I never settled in one place. To think all these years the two of you were out there. I had a family I didn’t even know about. It upsets me. Callen is a lucky boy to have such a strong mother. I mean that wholeheartedly. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

I came up behind Bran and set my hands on his shoulders. He tilted his head to the side, onto my arm, and I brushed his hair back from his head. It hurt to see so much sadness in him.

“I wish we could have been a family,” I said. “I really do, but Gracelin was right about the curse. And as I’ve seen, things really could have been worse.”

“How?” Bran asked, turning to look at me. “We’ve lost so much time together, how could there be anything worse than that?”

I turned away and walked to the other side of the room. Folding my arms in front of me, I thought about his question. I knew the answer, but it wasn’t my story to tell.

“Go ahead,” Callen said. “Tell them about me.”

Searching Callen’s eyes, the one trait he got from me, I saw that he was serious.

“Alright, but a small part,” I said. “It’s your story to tell whenever you want to. But I’m proud of you and I love you, Callen. One of my happiest and proudest days was the day of your hand-fasting such a long time ago.

“Our life with Gracelin flew by. We didn’t always stay in the Otherworld. At times, we traveled to Scotland or other places in Europe. It was a life I never thought I would ever experience. Living with the banshee was probably the best education Callen could ever have.

“Eventually though, I decided it was time to move on. We needed to be around other people. Callen needed a life of his own. With everything going on in the world, we decided to head to the New World. Specifically, we went to Salem, Massachusetts.”

Chapter Twelve

Ainsley

Late 1600s, Salem, Massachusetts

It had been a long time since I had to interact with people. I couldn’t believe how quickly a hundred years had gone by with Gracelin in the Otherworld, and it made me feel bad that I had kept Callen from having a life and the possibility of a family of his own.

It was autumn in Salem and the trees were changing colors from their dark green to reds and golds. Callen and I lived in a house owned by friends of Gracelin. She was never mentioned and I didn’t know if our benefactors were human, but I didn’t question it. I was simply grateful for a place where we could stay.

Since we looked so close in age, Callen and I pretended to be brother and sister. I didn’t mind playing the spinster. The only man I wanted was lost to me.

Callen and I would shift into wolves at night and go for runs. We had lived in Salem for several months and were happy. Many young women were interested in Callen, but he didn’t think any of them were special. We didn’t know how long we would stay, but I always remembered Gracelin’s advice to move before anyone became suspicious of our not aging.

One night as we ran under the full moon, we raced to see who could reach the town line the fastest. Being the smaller wolf, I was faster, and racing with my son always brought back memories of running with Bran. I was lost in my memories when I realized I was alone.

As I traced my way back to Callen, I found him standing near a church. He had shifted back to his human form and was staring into the distance. It was late, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to ourselves. Salem was filled with gossips. Moving into the shadows, I shifted to my human form.

“Callen,” I whispered, “what’s going on? Why did you stop?”

“There’s something nearby,” he said. “I can’t explain it, but I can feel it calling to me, beckoning me. It’s something in the air.”

He turned, and his eyes fixed onto something in the distance. I followed his gaze to a young woman with coppery red hair. She wore a black cape and was seated near a gravestone. It looked like she was talking to someone, but no one was there.

I had grown up hearing many superstitions and myths, but when I saw this girl, I knew she was only talking to the memory of whoever passed away. My shifter self didn’t sense anything special about her. She was nothing more than human. Except to Callen.

“Have you ever seen such a beautiful creature, Mother?” he asked.

“Shh! Callen, please. Let’s change back and get back to the house. This isn’t the place to be walking around naked!” I said.

“Mother, my heart is pounding in my chest. I feel like everything I’ve ever done has led to this moment of seeing her. I have to go over there now and--”

“Callen MacCulloch!” I hissed. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Listen to me, I know how you’re feeling. I felt exactly the same way before when I first saw your father. We can hide here as wolves and no one will see us. Then we can follow her home. Tomorrow, you can go over as a respectable young man, not some naked shifter, and you can ask her father for permission to speak to her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, to be honest. I don’t want to get us into trouble. You’re right, I can wait until tomorrow, and then one day I’ll make her my bride.”

***

Heather Mather was speaking to her parents that day in the cemetery. She had been orphaned at a young age and was raised by her elderly aunt. She was a kind young woman and I grew fond of her.

It had been six months since Callen first spotted Heather at the cemetery, and they spent as much time together as possible. As his “sister”, I played chaperone for those matronly women who looked down on Heather’s wild ways. I didn’t like how they spoke about her, and I could only imagine what they would have said about me when Bran and I were meeting in secret.

I was tending to the vegetable garden one day when I looked up to see Heather and Callen holding hands as they walked towards me. They could barely tear their eyes away from each other and while I was mostly happy for them, it also reminded me of what I missed with Bran.

“Mother,” Callen said, surprising me.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“I’ve told Heather everything. I even showed her the wolf.”

My eyes widened. Callen had a habit for telling me everything, but he kept this from me. I knew it was because he thought I would convince him not to. I wasn’t upset though, I knew how hard it was to keep a secret from the one you loved.

“And?” I asked, looking at Heather but not seeing any judgment, only love for my son.

“And we want to get married,” he said. “But we want a Scottish hand-fasting. Neither of us has family. Heather’s aunt can barely tell if it’s day or night. We want to be hand-fasted because all that matters is our love for each other, and we want you to do it.”

I threw my arms about them and hugged them tight. My one regret with Bran was that we had never been hand-fasted. I gave Callen his last name because in my heart we were married, but I kept my last name out of respect for my father.

It gave me so much joy that my son was going to be happy and live his life with the woman he loved. Gracelin’s words of unhappiness briefly rang in my head, but I ignored them. There was nothing that could tear Callen and Heather apart.

Present Day

I couldn’t continue. I looked at Callen. His face had fallen and it brought tears to my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I held in my tears and turned to Pinky and Rafael. If I looked at Bran, I knew I would be too upset to speak.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t continue the story. It is not my story, but it’s too heartbreaking anyway. If Callen wishes, he will tell it to you.”

Pinky bit her lip and turned away.

“Go on, human,” I said. “What is it?”

“You said her name was Heather Mather,” Pinky said. “I’ve been doing a lot of research lately, and there were a lot of ties between Salem and Leeds Point. I was looking at the list of names affected by the witch trials when I was trying to piece together why I had three MacCullochs from different time periods.”

I knew what she found out, and I figured it was easier for her to say it than me. She didn’t have any connection to Heather or Callen. The words meant nothing to her, it was just history.

“Heather’s aunt died and left her a large piece of property,” Pinky said. “That’s when they accused Heather of witchcraft. They used her status as unmarried against her, but I read that Callen MacCulloch refuted that claim and said they were married. No one listened though. They wanted her property. Heather died during her trial.”

Pinky was quiet, and I could see the weight of the news hitting her as she looked at Callen.

“I’m sorry, my son,” Bran said. “I know how it is to lose the woman you love.”

“And I keep losing her,” Callen said. “That’s the difference between you and me. Mother never died. You caught her scent and here she is, still remembering you, still loving you. Heather comes back to me. We’ve been married several times, but something always cuts short our time together.”

“What do you mean she comes back?” Rafael asked.

“Gracelin explained that not every soul moves on to the Otherworld,” I said. “Some return if they feel they haven’t finished what they came to Earth to do, especially if they had a tragic end.”

Callen stood from the table and turned to look out the window as I continued.

“But each soul has its match, and when we’re here, we look for it to become whole. With humans it’s trickier, they don’t recognize that counterpoint to themselves as easily because they don’t listen to their instincts. But with shifters, we know from touch, smell, everything. We can feel that other part of us calling to make us whole. That is what I call the one love.”

“Heather dies and after a certain time, she is born again,” Callen said. “Once she is of age, I can find her scent and trace where she is. This is the third time she’s come to Leeds Point. The problem is she never knows who I am. Each time I find her, I have to make her fall in love with me again.” Callen smiled softly. “There are worse things in the world, I suppose. And having her die is up there, but knowing she comes back and I can hold her and feel the love we have for each other makes it all better.”

“I’ll help you find her,” Pinky said.

“I know you will,” I said. “There is no such thing as coincidence.”

Chapter Thirteen

Ainsley

The house was empty and it was finally just Bran and I alone. Callen went with Rafael and Pinky to see if she had any additional news about Heather. He would be gone for hours.

Bran and I entered the small living room. I wanted to take him directly to my bed, but I reminded myself that we had plenty of time ahead of us.

As he started a fire in the fireplace, it brought me back to so long ago and how we would sneak around to spend time together. We didn’t need to do that anymore, but I didn’t want him any less.

He slid the coffee table over to the side, close to the couch, clearing the center of the room. As he stood on the thick white rug, he held his hand out to me and smiled softly with his head tilted to the side a little, silently asking me to join him.

Come with me.

The words filled my mind as I remembered our first time so long ago. Just the thought of his whisper, the warmth of his breath on my neck, was enough to make my breath catch in my throat.

I put my hand in his and his fingers snapped shut around my hand as he yanked me against him. With my body pressed against his, he swayed softly as he looked into my eyes.

“I remember when I first saw you,” he said. “You were this strange little girl climbing up a sea stack in Handa. I don’t know if I would have loved you as much if you were just picking flowers.”

I laughed and moved my hands over his shoulders. “You were always jealous of me. Of how fast I was and how well I hunted,” I said. “There was even that time you scared away my deer. I bet you did that on purpose.”

“If I did, it was only because I wanted to meet you. I thought I had spent an eternity looking for you back then, but it was only ten years. Now here we are together again, over four hundred years later and it’s like no time has passed.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” I said. “But curse or no curse, what happened let us get back together.”

“And nothing will come between us again,” he said as his fingers closed around my chin.

His lips touched mine gently at first, and then harder. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, never wanting to let go as his kiss whisked me away. But I wanted more, I needed more. And I wanted it now.

Sliding my hands down his chest, I reached the end of his t-shirt and lifted it up and off him before tossing it aside. He didn’t look any different than he did our first time together. He was just as handsome and strong.

I playfully poked his chest like I had that time in the forest, and he laughed then took my hand and kissed it. As we looked into each other’s eyes again, I couldn’t believe I almost forgot how light his eyes were.

He moved his hand to my lower back and pulled me close against him. His arms wrapped around me and he crushed my body against his as I clung tightly to him.

“I’m so afraid of losing you again,” I said.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to kill me to get rid of me,” he said with a grin.

As he kissed my forehead, all my worries drifted away. The only thing left was my love for him. He stroked my hair and then kissed my neck, causing goose bumps to rise along my arms like he always did.

“I’ve found something about this time that I don’t like,” he whispered.

“What is it?”

“You’re wearing a lot more clothes,” he said with a smirk.

He pulled my top off me, then took my hand as he lowered himself down on the rug. As I sat on the floor facing him, he moved closer and kissed my shoulder. My fingers moved down his chest and over his soft chest hair. It was strange to see him in front of me after centuries of thinking I never would again, but I had never been happier.

The firelight flickered against his skin and I reached down to unbutton his pants, but he pushed my hands away. I looked up at him to ask why, but he only shook his head.

He moved closer to the fireplace and picked up my bare foot. As he kneaded the arch of my foot, I leaned back against the armchair behind me. His hand reached for my other foot and then he slowly pulled me down until I was lying on the soft rug.

Moving up, he kissed my belly button, which made me giggle. I didn’t even realize he had unsnapped my jeans until he started sliding them down my hips. I lifted my hips up and tried to grab my panties, which were sliding down too, but he shook his head again.

He slipped out of his jeans, finally letting me see him naked. Bran was a real man, strong and muscular. His hands were still a little rough like they had been long ago from life on the Highlands. But as he came close to me again, his large hand tracing the curves of my body, I realized I wouldn’t have it any other way.

His fingers wrapped around the shoulder strap of my bra and as his mouth closed over mine, the strap came down. I was so dizzy from his kiss as his tongue dove into my mouth that I didn’t even feel him unhook my bra.

As he slid the bra off my arms, he looked down at me. I noticed his eyes taking in my rounded hips, my soft stomach, and my full breasts. He smiled as his eyes met mine.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remembered,” he said before kissing my lips. “Every single day, even though I thought you were gone, I dreamt about you. I couldn’t even look at other women, you always have been and always will be the only one for me. I love you in the past, in the present, and in the future.”

“I love you too, Bran. Forever and always.”

My arms moved around his broad shoulders and pulled him to me. We laid on our sides holding each other as the fire continued its dance.

His lips moved up the side of my neck and I tilted my body towards his. As we kissed again, his hand moved over my breasts and squeezed my hard nipple. Lowering his head, his mouth closed around it and I sighed as his tongue flicked over it.

I moved my leg up over his, feeling his hardness pressed against me. I wanted him. I pushed my hips towards his, and his hand slid down and clutched my butt and pulled me harder against him.

His hand followed the curve of my leg and pulled it up along his side. I felt him pressed against my entrance, then he moved onto his back and pulled me on top of him.

I lowered myself onto his shaft, slowly holding my breath as I bit my lip. It had been so long that I had forgotten the electricity that ran through my veins and how it felt like to have him inside me.

He grasped my hips and we moved together. Each thrust sent bolts of excitement through my body, and my core began to pulse insistently.

His hands moved up to my breasts and he cupped and stroked them then gently rubbed my nipples between his fingers. One of his hands slid down my belly, and I shifted my hips back a bit, already knowing where his hand was going.

As his fingers ran over my bud, my hips jerked softly. It had been so long that already my breathing was beginning to quicken.

He rubbed his fingers over my clit, and my hips took on a life of their own. The pulsing in my core came faster, causing my entire body to vibrate. I couldn’t hold on for much longer.

Bran reached up and pulled me down to him, our lips locking as our tongues met and rolled against each other. Then his hands moved back to my hips and he gripped me tightly before he plunged deeply into me over and over again.

My body had taken all it could. I panted as he thrusted faster. And as the pressure in my core reached its point, I felt the release consume my body.

I cried out just before my lips met his once again. He wrapped his arms around me and pressed me against him as he came. My body shook from the energy that ran through me, and I took deep breaths as I melted into him.

Bran carried me to the bedroom and laid me gently on the bed before he settled himself beside me. I rested my head against his shoulder, letting my body form against his as he held me. The warmth of his body, the touch of his skin was just as I always remembered it.

“I love you,” he said. “And I promise we will never be apart again. I don’t think I could live if I lost you again.”

“I love you too, Bran. And I’m going to keep you to that promise. I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

As I laid in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. To have lived for so many years and have the man of my dreams, my one love, come back was something I never thought possible.

I lived through so many things both magical and mundane, but I never believed I would see Bran again. Yet there he was lying beside me, his flesh pressed against mine.

As I thought about how fate worked in such strange ways, both good and bad, I couldn’t help but think back to Gracelin’s words and her warning about the curse on Clan MacCulloch.

When a MacCulloch finds his mate in another clan, they will be torn apart.

I hoped it wasn’t true. I had to believe that four hundred years without my mate was long enough to satisfy the curse, but I didn’t know. All I was sure of was that I was finally back in the arms of my one love. I would never leave him again, and I knew he was finally mine forever. I just hoped that one day our son would have that same happiness with his love.

Thank you for reading The Highlander’s Mate! I hope you enjoyed it. The novel Wolf at Her Door is Callen and Heather’s story and takes place right after The Highlander’s Mate. Wolf at Her Door is available for purchase at your favorite ebook retailer. Sign up for my newsletter for updates and new releases!

Links for the novel Wolf at Her Door

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About Liliana Rhodes

Liliana Rhodes is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author who writes contemporary and paranormal romance with relatable characters. Blessed with an over active imagination, she is always writing and plotting her next stories. She enjoys movies, reading, photography, and listening to music. After growing up on the east coast, Liliana now lives in California with her husband, son, two dogs who are treated better than some people, and two parrots who plan to take over the world.

Visit her website at www.LilianaRhodes.com for news, updates, and to subscribe to her newsletter!

Highland Moon Rising

Cry Wolf

Sarah Mäkelä

A kitten in a werewolves’ lair…

A Highland reunion...

After months of trying to rescue her werewolf half-brother Colin who was abducted by evil research scientists, wereleopard Caitlyn has come home to Scotland to console her sibling. But her problems are far from over...

Red in tooth and claw...

Still heady and wanton from the power of last night’s full moon, Caitlyn is in mortal danger. Werewolves have little respect for other shifters, and she’s trapped and caged at the Scottish Pack's HQ and at the mercy of Alistair—the vicious wolf who fathered Colin and abused her mother, and who’s capable of murder…

The sweet smell of arousal...

Her scent can save her, or kill her. Dougal, the Pack’s new Alpha, hungers to strip her naked and satiate his fiery lunar lust.  But he also senses this beautiful feline with clover-green eyes that shine through the bars of her prison with burning desire is nearing the end of her strength. Will he deny his dominance, and the moon’s lingering power, to be the protector she needs?

CHAPTER ONE

Caitlyn

Hinges squeaked on a door that hadn’t seen use in several months. Months I’d spent struggling to rescue my younger brother. My attempts had been in vain. Not only had the scientists who’d captured him discovered my existence and fervently chased me, but no matter what I’d tried, their research facility had been nearly impenetrable for a lone wereleopard. The tall fences and heavy-duty searchlights would have been challenge enough, but the plentiful armed guards that crisscrossed the compound had made it impossible to proceed.

Fortunately, the werewolf Pack he’d transferred to had broken him—and the other shifters—free with their numbers and brute strength. However, I could only wonder how Colin had fared after all he’d been through. From the brief phone call we’d shared yesterday, I barely recognized him. He didn’t sound at all like the easygoing guy I’d known. He was weary and solemn.

But that was understandable. Whatever had been done had changed him and his beast.

With each minute, hour, day, I neared the brink of complete exhaustion. Sooner than later, I needed to rest up. The scientists had stayed so close on my tail for so long that I remained vigilant at all times. It was so hard to let my guard down.

While I was in Scotland to support Colin, I craved the comfort of home and the ability to run in my feline form without having to keep constant watch over my shoulder. Och, to feel the lush grass and dried leaves beneath my padded feet and to smell the forest air mixing and lingering with the soft undertones of early morning rain. My beast stretched lazily inside my chest, eager to unsheathe her claws and return to nature. But there was no luxury for that yet.

Colin would be arriving back any day now, and I wanted to clean the place up before his return. His absence had made the house a dusty mess. However, this provided me with a temporary place to stay, since I’d given up my flat and the majority of my belongings shortly after he’d gone missing.

Now that he was safe, I looked forward to rebuilding my life and getting back into a comfortable routine.

Tossing my duffel bag on the floor, I took a deep breath, trying to push aside the stress weighing on me. My brother’s scent still lingered in the air after all this time. However, I wasn’t alone. Another musky smell—of a wild beast—urged me deeper into the apartment, calling to me from just out of reach.

As far as I knew, Colin wasn’t expecting company.

A loose floorboard groaned behind me. I spun around, slinging my fist at the intruder as instinct took over. But the hulking man looming over me easily dodged my punch and landed a hard kick to my outer thigh. I stumbled into the living room’s leather armchair but jerked back to my feet, quickly regaining my balance. My cat-like reflexes suffered from being so bone-weary, but I needed to persevere.

Sucking in a deep breath, I scented my attacker’s lupine odor and my blood chilled. Shite.

Werewolves weren’t exactly fans of other shifters, especially felines. The dog and cat politics between us were as hairy as our domestic counterparts’ at times.

“What are you doing here, kitty?” The man snarled the words, sounding every bit the hungry wolf. Dark brown hair swept across his forehead, and he brushed it back with the swipe of his meaty hand. He stalked closer, invading my personal space. I didn’t dare to move away and show weakness.

Questions raced through my head. Who was he? Should I answer him? Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Keep the secret safe.

He slid his blue-eyed gaze down my body, pointedly lingering on my curves. His momentary distraction was exactly what I needed to attack.

I leapt into the air, slamming both feet against his chest to knock him down in a fierce hit. My plan nearly succeeded—even if his massive chest was as solid as a brick wall—but he grabbed my ankle at the last minute, dragging me down with him. I twisted, struggling to land on my feet. Unlike my feline counterpart, I wasn’t that agile. Not with a werewolf holding onto me.

Air burst from my lungs as I smacked the floor with bone-rattling force. I gasped, struggling for each breath after the hard blow. A gentle gust of wind made the open front door creak a little. My gaze rose to the lush green outdoors. If I could just make it there, then I could outrun this wolf. Leopards were quicker, so I’d be safe from him.

Shame forced its way inside my chest. My life had become one giant race. Constantly running from one problem to another. That wasn’t me. The fact this wolf had even managed to gain an advantage over me showed just how desperately I needed to rest. If I were at the top of my game, he would be running from me.

His large hands gripped my shoulders, pulling my upper body off the dark hardwood floor, and he shoved his knee into the small of my back. Pain shot through my spine and I gritted my teeth determined to remain strong. “Answer me, lass. I’m tiring of these games. What are you doing at this home?”

None of the local wolves knew about my familial relationship with Colin. I’d made him promise not to mention anything about me. For all the Scottish Pack knew, he had a mother currently living in Europe, and that was all. At least, I hoped he’d kept to his word. I didn’t have any reason to believe he wouldn’t.

The wolf jerked back on my shoulders at the intruding silence, grinding his knee that much further into me. I bit my lower lip hard—the sweet coppery taste of blood caressing my tongue—and refused to cry out as the ache turned to agony. He wouldn’t get that satisfaction from me. His fingers bit into my shoulders, squeezing with enough force to break any human’s collarbone. If he didn’t stop, he might really hurt me. But I would not talk to him. Maybe he realized that, because he repositioned his hands to hold my upper arms instead and shifted his weight so he straddled me rather than pinned me down.

My leopardess slammed against the surface of my skin. Rage flowed through us at the way we were being manhandled by this werewolf. The seed of fear grew inside me. If I shifted to leopard form, my chance of survival would take a turn for the worst. She thrived on primal instinct, but I needed my wits and the remaining ounce of strength I had left.

The massive werewolf grunted as he tried to drag me to my feet. I fisted my hand on the rug beside us. It was tucked beneath the coffee table and sofa. If he wanted me to go with him, then we’d be rearranging the furniture in the process. I would not let myself be taken that easily.

A visceral snarl slipped from his throat near my left ear. “Let go.” Dread and nausea coiled in my gut. He threw more strength into his effort until I was nearly off the ground. I was a lot stronger than any human and some shapeshifters, but his wolf’s huge frame made me look puny by comparison.

The more he pulled on me, the tighter I clung to the rug. Determination rooted me in place. His stench overwhelmed me, and I hissed at him.

I hated werewolves, aside from Colin, but even my brother grated on my nerves at times. We’d never been terribly close, surprisingly enough. We should be there for each other since both of us experienced the complexities of leading a supernatural life, but we weren’t. Brothers and sisters; leopards and wolves. Some things didn’t work out the way we intended them to. However, I still aimed to keep him safe. Regardless of our differences, our blood bond meant something to me.

Our human mother knew how to pick her men: a werewolf and a wereleopard. I didn’t know my own father, but I remembered Colin’s. He’d been abusive toward me since I was a feline shifter. Mother had moved us before realizing she was pregnant with his child.

Colin didn’t know his father either, but it was better that way. When he was little, Mum had made up a story that his father had died. Every once in a while, he asked who his father had been, or more in general about his life, but the questions became less troublesome for him after a while. Perhaps he found a way to cope. If he only knew...

The wolf tightened his grip, straining to get the best of me, and I knew I’d be covered in bruises before the night was done. Just like before, when I was with...

I shuttered the repressed memories. I’d survived many things in my life, and if this werewolf thought he’d conquer me, then he had another thing coming. While I was nearing the end of my strength, I wouldn’t submit and be taken by him. Not if I had any say in the matter. My will to survive drove me harder than that.

The werewolf cursed under his breath, and the muscles in his arms slightly shook. Every instinct I had warned me of the telltale signs of attack he was displaying.

The time had passed for reacting. Now I needed to act before I might miss my chance.

I slammed my head back, catching him in the mouth. He jerked away, letting me go as he slapped his hands over his ruddy face. I bared my teeth at him, letting my instincts guide me while I kept my beast in check. The leopard in my chest stalked just below the surface, pent up energy ready to burst through and take me over without permission.

Stop it.

Yesterday there had been a full moon, so the lunar tides were still strong tonight. While werewolves were tied to its effects more strongly than other shapeshifters, we weren’t immune. My beast was more unruly tonight than normal, and my body burned with lust. However, I’d rather jump off a cliff than give in to those desires with a werewolf.

I’d anticipated going to the local pub to sate my needs before taking a run in leopard form. My plans had obviously fallen through. After this was over, all I’d want to do is rest.

Within moments, the wolf was mostly recovered and that much angrier.

I took a few sideways steps to move further from him but not show myself as submissive. I leaned a little to my left, angling my body toward the door right behind the hulking man. With him injured, I doubted he’d be able to catch me. At least, I hoped.

His searing gaze traveled down my body, analyzing and sizing me up. Movement at the door caught my attention for a split second, and that was all it took. The werewolf lunged at me.

I tried to sidestep to the right, but there wasn’t a lot of room with the couch barring my escape. He landed a vicious punch to my jaw, sending me flailing backwards into the coffee table, which collapsed with the force of impact. Dark spots blurred my vision and I kicked him in the chest with all my might, sending him sailing.

“Alistair! Fuck!” a masculine voice further away shouted in surprise. He must’ve been the momentary distraction. Bloody hell.

Within seconds, the wolf was straddling me. So much for that last bit of strength. His fists slammed into my ribs, stomach and face. I lifted my arms, but it was hopeless. Each punch was like being hit by a lorry over and over again, until my body couldn’t take it anymore.

* * *

Darkness spread out around me as I blinked my eyes open. Pain radiated through every inch of my body—with my jaw and teeth hurting the worst—from the hard punches. I cradled my cheek in my hands. Last thing I knew I was at my brother’s house on his broken coffee table. Now I had no idea where I was. Pushing into a sitting position, my eyes slowly adjusted to the black room, and I could see cage bars surrounding me, holding me hostage.

Another thing that was blatantly obvious was my clothes: they had been removed, aside from my underwear, and I was in an oversized t-shirt that smelled like wolf. Maybe it came from the general laundry Colin had once mentioned where they kept spare t-shirts and sweatpants, due to the violent nature of the shift. At one time, I’d been intrigued, but now I just wanted my clothing back.

The scent of my surroundings hit me suddenly. Rage, adrenaline, urine and blood. Here and there were spots reeking of desperation and fear. Where ever they held me wasn’t good, my skin itched as my leopardess grew ever more restless.

I squeezed my eyes shut, overwhelming frustration pouring through me, and I wished I’d been more careful. Perhaps if I’d let my beast loose, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Or we could be dead. I reclined on the floor. My body ached from the abuse dealt to me by the werewolf. However, I was still alive, so I had that going for me.

I ran my tongue over my teeth, making sure they were all intact, while I stared at the cage's darkened ceiling. After spending so much time running from the scientists who had studied my brother and so much energy attempting to rescue him from those monsters, I was trapped in a hell beyond any other filled with werewolves. Life wasn't fair.

The scraping of a metallic chair across the floor caught my attention, but I lay still, not wanting whoever lurked in the shadows to realize I was awake, even though I’d moved earlier. Perhaps I could learn something from them if they thought I was still unconscious. If not, then... well, I'd figure that out when I came to it. How had I not sensed him previously?

Questions buzzed through my head. Would my brother come after me once he found his home trashed? Uncertainty slithered down my spine. What if his loyalty to the Pack overrode our relationship? It had been a while since we'd last seen one another. I pushed those thoughts away. They would only drive me closer to madness and I didn't need any help getting there.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty..." a familiarly rough voice whispered in the dark.

My chest clenched with dread. It took everything in me not to physically react to those words and that voice. Something in them positively scared me. That plain sort of passionate violence sped my pulse before I had a chance to get myself back under control.

"So you are awake." A bright light encased me in its glow, while leaving the rest of the room dark and shadowy. What good would pretending to be out cold do for me? That might give him the upper hand if he tried to pull anything since I wouldn’t be as alert. I tried not to dwell further on it.

But it still didn't mean I had to answer to him. While I’d been vulnerable to his attack before, I now had the bars between us. For the moment, at least. There was no telling if he had the key or not.

Opening my eyes, I slowly pushed myself into a sitting position and looked out into the dark room. While I wouldn't let him see my fear, I did want to keep track of where he was; even if my eyes were out of the question for the moment, my ears and nose were still more than adequate in locating him.

“What do you want from me, ye monster?” I asked. My accent thickened as my frustration grew in leaps and bounds by his games. A true man wouldn’t hide in the darkness like this. He’d look me in the face while threatening me. Then again, he wasn’t a man. He was a beast.

“You know what I want. Aye, you might’ve escaped my full wrath earlier, but there won’t always be someone around to keep me from getting to you.” The words resounded in my head as if I’d heard that phrase before. The chair scraped again, and this time, I knew he’d stood because I could hear his shoes clomp against the concrete floor. “That cage won’t hold you forever. I’ll find out the truth about you yet.”

I sat very still, doing my best to look neutral when what coursed through me was deep- seated fear. Alistair reminded me so much of Colin’s father. Almost to the point of…

I shook the thoughts from my head. There was no way. Was there? The more I thought about the similarities, the less confident I was in my safety. This couldn’t be happening to me. If he knew who I was, he could find out about Colin, and then neither of us would be safe.

Chapter Two

Dougal

Normally I wouldn’t head straight down to investigate new prisoners. However, this one intrigued me. Not only was she a female, but she was a wereleopard. I’d never seen anyone like her before in person.

Then again, I didn’t usually have reasons to suspect that one Pack member was in danger, while the other was a danger.

Alistair had had his reasons for attacking the woman, I didn’t doubt that, but Duncan’s urgency made me second-guess the older wolf. From what I gathered, Alistair almost killed her before we’d had a chance to question why she was in a Pack member’s home, especially one who had been recently kidnapped while overseas.

The basement was dark with the exception of the cage’s spotlight as I descended the stairs. Alistair’s faint scent proved he’d been here recently. The quiet clap of the basement door leading outside raised my hackles. He’d fled before I could confront him face-to-face. The coward.

The wolf in me wanted to chase after him and make him submit to our authority, but the dark-haired wereleopard drew my attention.

Anger consumed me at the punishment inflicted upon this woman. Bruises and faint traces of blood marred her fair complexion. While I knew she'd fought with and dealt blows to Alistair, I couldn't condone the fact he'd beaten her further once she'd been unable to defend herself and was helpless. This looked more as if he’d enjoyed himself, not that he was protecting himself against an attack. The brute didn’t control himself, the evidence of violence before me said as much. If he hadn’t been interrupted, there might be a corpse here now.

I balled my hands into fists, forcing myself to calm down. My fury might convince her that I was a threat, and right now, she needed to talk if I had any hopes of figuring out what was going on.

She turned her head in my direction. The strength and grace in the way she held herself sparked something deep inside me. Regardless of her injuries, my body reacted to the leopardess beyond what I could imagine in my darkest desires. I wanted to claim her body and show her pleasure, not pain—even if Pack dynamics would be rocked to their core.

Being the new Alpha, I had to balance what I wanted to accomplish with what the Pack was willing to support me on. Somehow, I very much doubted they'd be pleased with me quenching my lust with our prisoner.

I stepped toward the cage. Rational thought escaped me, and only the roaring fires of desire and need raged in my body. If I didn’t stop this foolishness soon, I’d end up making a large problem much bigger. I was the Alpha and I needed to clear my head before I ravished her.

“What’s your name, lass?” I asked, my voice a bit husky. If I started off neutral, I might gain more cooperation from her than if I used Alistair’s violent approach, which I most definitely didn’t agree with. Then again, I’d only been in the room with her for a few brief moments. She could be more of a threat than my body wanted to believe.

Besides, my priority was my Pack. While I wanted to treat this wereleopard fairly, I didn’t know who she was, or why she was in Colin’s house. She could be part of the reason he’d been kidnapped. Colin had never mentioned knowing a wereleopard, and it seemed all too suspicious that she was here when he was set to arrive back with us for a time.

Colin failed to give much information over the phone when he’d called, so I only assumed he’d fill me in when he made it here.

She remained carefully still, and her gaze was aimed directly at me. However, I knew she wouldn’t be able to see me. The spotlight was on, so she had to have pinpointed my location by my voice. But she didn’t respond, just stayed quiet and jutted out her chin a little. Just like a stubborn cat refusing to give an inch.

More and more, I could see what might have set off Alistair. He was quick tempered on a good day, and with someone like this facing him down... She had fire to her personality. I had to give her that. Her intoxicating honeysuckle scent lingered in my nose and carried a sensation of warmth through my veins. Although beaten and bruised, she was strong and more arrogant than afraid.

However, I was intent on getting through this before my restraint weakened. If I opened the cage, she might attack, potentially making me hurt her further. Alternatively, the incredibly lustful man in me might decide to dominate her sleek body. Images of our bodies naked and entwined fluttered through my head, and I shoved those thoughts away. How could I be thinking something like that, especially about an injured female wereleopard? Perhaps the moon’s power was extra strong tonight.

"Whether you want to talk or not, you will answer my questions. Why were you in that house?" I asked, deciding if she didn’t want to tell me who she was, she might answer something else.

Her gaze met mine, until I was almost positive she could see where I stood, clear defiance burning within those clover-green eyes. Surely she realized how werewolf society operated? Most shapeshifters did because we were the most common and, by far, the force to be reckoned with. Locking eyes with an Alpha werewolf was something one didn't do. It was a challenge, a sign of dominance, and the wolf within me wouldn't allow that to go unpunished. If she didn't turn away, she'd be placing herself in more danger, far beyond what she could know.

However, her chin rose further, and she straightened her back a little more, even if I caught the slightest wince passing over her delicate facial features. She took slow, deep breaths to keep her composure.

"Answer me, feline." I lowered my voice, a rumbling growl slipping from my lips. My beast scratched at my skin, furious at the lack of respect we were being shown, eager to show this wereleopard her place.

Regardless of the beatings she’d received, she leapt to her feet and gripped the bars in her hands. "I dinnae do nothing wrong. Just let me go." Her thick accent lilted a little before she could wrestle it under control.

“If that’s the case, you’ll be willing to bloody talk to me.” I squeezed my hands into fists again, clenching and releasing them to wring out the tension stretching my patience.

She narrowed her eyes and cursed under her breath about the arrogance of werewolves. I was starting to see why Alistair had gone overboard. She had a way of bringing out the worst in people, even if that was not in her best interest.

The keys to the cage jingled as I pulled them from my pocket and held them in my fist for a brief moment, letting the threat pass between us. She seemed to consider it for a moment and retracted at first, lowering her gaze and taking on a submissive posture. The beast within me relaxed. Then, as if all reason flew from her, she returned her gaze to mine.

“What good will it do me? You’ll throw me back to that arse again to be beaten, no matter what I do.” She threw up her hands and spun around, slinking deeper into the cage.

My gaze descended lower on her body and I caught a glimpse of those long, elegant legs. She was dressed in one of the Pack’s shirts. Why would that be unless she’d torn her clothes shifting? From the bruises marring her flesh, I highly doubted that.

I didn’t understand much about this situation. If she would just talk with me, I might figure out the issue brewing below the surface. It’d be good for her if she was innocent, and my Pack could regain some normalcy.

Irritation overwhelming me, I opened the cage door and smacked it shut behind us. "You don't know who you're talking to, lass. If you want to continue breathing, then you'll answer my questions." The words were harsh, but I was tired of the verbal sparring. I wanted resolution here.

She jerked and her eyes widened a little. "Get out of here. Just leave me alone. You don’t frighten me."

"You're damn stupid, then. What do you think you're going to do here?" I couldn’t hold back the smirk curving my lips, baring my teeth at her. “You’re not in fighting condition.”

“Are you certain about that?” She shifted on her feet, sizing me up. But there was more in her eyes than just the need to survive, and they drew me into their green depths. While the full moon had been yesterday, I couldn’t help feeling drawn to her, especially with my beast still revved up. My libido ached to have a woman in my bed. Yet something about this one caught my attention more than any other. Images of her fine legs wrapped around my waist tore through my head.

Och, fuck!

Blood gathered in my cock, and I gritted my teeth, not pleased with the building erection. Perhaps Duncan knew why she was dressed like this, since I doubted she’d been wearing Pack clothes when she arrived.

I suspected Alistair might have something to do with that, and I needed to talk with the idiot sooner than later to find out what his problem was. I'd sent him over to check and see if Colin had come back yet, but I hadn't anticipated him roughing up a wereleopard and bringing her back here. If she had people of her own, we might have a political headache on our hands. One of these days Alistair’s temper was going to bring down the entire Pack, and I feared that day might have already come. Regardless, we couldn't let the wereleopard go prowling the countryside back to her kin in this battered condition.

Bringing myself back to her brisque words, I crossed my arms. “Aye, I am.” Tension built in my shoulders, but I remained still, refusing to roll my neck and bring relief to the bunched muscles.

I couldn't put a finger on what she did for me, but the longer I was here, the more I wanted to know about this mysterious wereleopard. However, it didn't look like she was going to talk. But she'd been in Colin's home, and that was pretty suspicious. My Pack members weren't particular to other shifters, and I'd known Colin for quite a while, so for him to be associated with her seemed peculiar. Perhaps she'd been hiding in his home in preparation for an attack. He had been kidnapped. She had to be connected somehow.

The wereleopard slightly shifted to the left, and I growled in warning. She'd be stupid to attack, but I knew werecats weren't fond of being locked up. She leapt at me, her movements a blur. She threw her weight behind her pounce, which wasn't much, but she possessed far more power than I'd anticipated.

Air whooshed out of my lungs and I stumbled back against the cage door. My instincts took over, and I pushed aside the discomfort. I shoved her to the cage's bars, holding her slight wrists above her head with my hands. Her soft, toned body pressed against mine with an intimacy that burned straight through me. The urgency of it was startling.

While I enjoyed female company, I typically wasn't so desperate as to go after the first woman who appeared before me half-naked, not even with the moon’s power still strong. Though I would be willing to make an exception in this case. But I wouldn't assault her. She'd been through enough with Alistair.

Her green eyes sparkled with anger. She squirmed, trying to fight my grip, but that only made things worse. Her belly brushed against my cock, making me even harder than before. Her chin rose again and her eyes widened. The sweet smell of her arousal was like a delicate perfume. While other shifters weren't as affected by the full moon as werewolves, they still felt the intense effects of its power.

"Let me go," she said, her voice huskier than it had been. She had gone very still. Her perky nipples against my chest signaled she might not want what she was saying. But I wasn't an abuser of women, wereleopard or not. Not like Alistair.

I released her but didn't give any more space. She didn't move either. Just stayed there staring up at me until everything in me wanted to grab her and shove her to the ground. Visions in my head of her lying beneath me nude and wanton consumed my thoughts. Stop it. If she wanted to get the jump on me, she had ample opportunity now, because of my extraordinary distraction. Never before had I been like this.

"Will you tell me what you were doing in my Pack member’s home?" I said, trying to get back on track. I would stay calm and pretend she was like any other Pack prisoner. However, my beast recognized her as something more, even if my brain fought against those kinds of sentiments. I couldn't go around listening to it and chasing after every fine piece of arse because it told me to.

"Your Pack? I—" she started.

The door to the basement creaked open and heavy footsteps trod down the steps. For fuck's sake. Who could that be? I shoved her aside to let myself out so I could converse with the bastard. The slightest wince of pain on her face had me cursing myself.

Once I figured out what was going on here, Alistair would be in the cage next for the damage he’d caused her. While she wasn’t a Pack member, she didn’t deserve this treatment. Not when she appeared innocent enough, if not incredibly stubborn.

I frowned at her as I locked the cage, and she backed away, keeping her gaze a little lowered but on me, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do. I couldn't blame her. When I'd come down here to question her, I hadn't exactly anticipated any of this. Damn.

Duncan strode around the corner, still hidden in the darkness, but I could smell him. While I'd wanted to talk with Alistair, I supposed Duncan would do to give me unbiased insight I might miss if I immediately spoke to the older man. Besides, I had a feeling I'd need to hunt Alistair down.

"Don't cause any trouble, lass," I tossed over my shoulder at the wereleopard. “I’ll be back for answers.”

Duncan and I walked through the Pack’s large manor in silence. The old building had been in my lineage for hundreds of years but I’d never imaged I would be in charge. Once we reached my father’s study, I turned to Duncan, frowning at him. "What's going on?"

“Alpha,” he said, bowing his head in reverence.

My blood warmed in my veins. I was past all of that. The newness of the title had long worn off. “Just tell me, Duncan.” Traditions were fine, but this conversation needed to progress so I could get my answers from the woman... wereleopard... downstairs. The moon’s power hung heavily over me, and I needed my brain clear.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your interrogation. But it seems Alistair is missing.” Tension grated through the submissive wolf as if he expected punishment for delivering the news. While other Alphas might do that, it wasn’t my style. I wouldn’t shoot the messenger. Besides, I needed to pick Duncan’s brain about what had gone on at Colin’s between Alistair and the werecat. If he had a grudge, then she’d need to remain under supervision. Alistair was the one who would be punished. But if she had caused all of this, then I needed to know that too.

“When did he go missing?” I asked, a slow trickling growl flowing from my lips. Duncan lowered his gaze a little obviously sensing my rage. If I didn’t get myself under control, I’d let loose on someone. Taking in a few deep breaths, I rolled my shoulders and neck. “Tell me.”

“The last time I saw him was shortly after we arrived back here. He put the prisoner downstairs, then he went off to his room. Since then, I haven’t seen him. I’ve looked because I wanted to talk with him about earlier.” The muscle in Duncan’s jaw twitched, and I detected a sour scent of regret emanating from him. My interest in getting to the bottom of this rose that much further. Even though wereleopards and other shifters weren’t looked upon well within our Pack, Duncan was feeling generous toward our female prisoner too. Maybe it wasn’t even a kindness toward the wereleopard, but a disgust for Alistair’s actions. The man was a ticking bomb. If we weren’t careful, he’d explode.

“Tell me about earlier.” The need to cross my arms over my chest and portray my dominance nearly had me acting, but I knew if I wanted to keep Duncan’s words flowing freely, then I couldn’t strong-arm him into giving me what I wanted. He stumbled around and tripped over his words, even though he tried to impress and prove his usefulness. Overall, he wasn’t a strong wolf, but I had a feeling that if he wasn’t in this Pack, then he’d be an outcast or some dominant’s whipping boy.

He wouldn’t be able to survive on his own. While lone wolves weren’t uncommon in the animal kingdom, to be a lone werewolf was brutal. You lived among humans, but you weren’t like humans, and you couldn’t have the companionship of others who were like you. Most risked going mad within the first year. The ones who regained their senses were either outright brutes or born survivors. Neither had a place within a normal Pack.

Duncan blew out a breath looking uncomfortable but he glanced at me, following proper etiquette. “We were on the way to see if Colin had arrived yet, according to your orders. My girlfriend rang, so I waited in the car for a moment and finished up the call. I didn’t anticipate there would be trouble since it was supposed to be a quick visit.” He lowered his gaze to the floor. Shame slumped his shoulders. “When Alistair was gone longer than was appropriate, I headed up to the house to see what was going on. That’s when I saw them fighting. Both of them were bleeding, and the woman didn’t exactly act human, but at the time, I wasn’t sure what she was. Before I could do anything, he’d thrown her on Colin’s coffee table and was beating her senseless. She tried to fight back, but I think he wasn’t of the mind to care if she died.”

I could tell as much about that last part since, if she’d looked as rough as she did now, then I only imagined how much worse off she’d been right after the attack had taken place.

Grimacing, I held up a hand, cutting off his words, which had slowly descended into rushed rambling. “What did you do when you saw he was attacking her? Did you try to stop it?”

“Yes, my lord. I knew she wasn’t one of us from her scent, but I figured if I didn’t stop him and he killed her that we would both be held responsible for her death.” He trembled a little, but he tried his best to keep himself in check. His nervousness crept into his scent, and he lowered his gaze.

Duncan was brave for telling me all of this, especially since if he hadn’t been talking on his mobile, then things might not have escalated as they had. He’d earned himself a disciplining, but I wouldn’t make it too harsh since he’d also saved the wereleopard’s life.

“Alistair must be found before he causes more trouble. Spread the word that I’m holding an urgent Pack meeting in the great hall. I want everyone there.” Without saying another thing, I strode from the room. If I didn’t take the moment to calm myself before the meeting, I might rip out someone’s throat. My wolves didn’t deserve that. They needed a strong, stoic Alpha capable of making factual decisions, not a hot-headed prick.

* * *

The wolves gathered around the manor’s great hall. Some sat on benches and chairs, while others stood along the walls. Most of them were in attendance, but there were a few notable absences. While it was customary for the previous Alpha’s son to be chosen as the new Alpha, not many were pleased with me taking on my new role in the Pack. Granted, I was the younger son.

My older brother had gone off to one of the Nordic countries once he’d come of age, since he and my father didn’t get along well. Even with news of Father’s death, he’d wanted nothing to do with the Pack. It beyond saddened me, especially at times like this.

I hadn’t anticipated becoming Alpha, and yet most of the Pack didn’t trust me.

“The reason I’ve called you all together is that we’ve got a problem. Alistair Rattray has gone missing. He brought to us a badly beaten female wereleopard as prisoner. I suspect he’s a danger to himself and others, and I’d like to speak with him. That’s why I need the Pack to search for him.” A few men were already grumbling under their breath about the wee prince giving orders again. But I wasn’t in the mood for it. “Anyone who directly disobeys will receive stiff punishment.”

The room went quiet. I’d obviously gotten their attention.

“My laird.” One of the seated wolves stood, drawing my attention. “If he only went after a feline shifter, then why should we care?” His eyes crinkled with humor and he glanced around at some of the other Pack members.

I balled my hands into fists at my sides, trying to gain control of my beast who raged at the comment. “You should care because he could easily attack a human in the state of mind he’s in. If he were to do that, then we’d all be fucked. We already have to take extra care when we’re running as wolves. If he drew attention to what we really are, we’d never be safe again.”

The man’s smile faded and took his seat again without another word. The other wolves around were more solemn after the scolding too. Maybe they realized I wasn’t pulling this stuff out of nowhere. My priority was the Pack’s survival.

“Aye, Alpha. I’ll organize the searches.” Kerr, the second highest ranked wolf in the Pack, nodded at me. While I don’t think he liked that I was going after Alistair, I think he had enough reasoning and respect for me that he knew I wouldn’t do anything to harm our best interests.

“Thank you, Kerr.” I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning against the grand chair my father and grandfather before had used as a throne. I watched as Kerr went to work, coordinating who needed to go where and forming an effective strategy for bringing Alistair in quickly and safely for all involved.

With that wolf, we needed all the preparation possible, because once he found out we were after him he’d be livid.

Chapter Three

Caitlyn

The tall, ruddy-complexioned werewolf was like none I'd ever met before. He had seemed frustrated by the fact he'd hurt me. But the feeling of his rock-hard body against mine, especially his thick erection, made my body react in ways I’d never known I could feel. It wasn’t like I had much practice in that regard, but I hated that I looked forward to him questioning me again. I'd been close to throwing myself at his feet and asking him to take me. My wereleopard who normally didn't like werewolves thoroughly enjoyed that idea.

Bloody hell.

I crossed my legs, stretching the oversized T-shirt out over my knees to make sure it fully covered my lady bits, then I leaned back against the bars. While I wanted to say he was different, how could I know that for sure? He might be the same as all the others. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was the Alpha—or at least higher up in the Pack. Perhaps he felt the need to smooth things over for fear that other wereleopards out there would rise up to defend me. Fat chance.

Sighing, I ran my hands through my hair. The quiet creak of movement on the stairs caught my attention. I jerked to my feet, not bothering to hide the pain that wrenched through me. While I wanted to believe this was Dougal, I couldn’t be sure.

Taking a deep breath, I slumped against the bars, immediate relief sagging my shoulders. Not that I thought he was harmless, but he appeared less dangerous to me than Alistair, by far. Dougal hadn’t seemed happy about what Alistair had done to me. Not that I cared for his pity; he had no idea what Alistair was capable of. Part of me toyed with the idea of filling him in, but while my body wanted him, I didn’t want to trust him.

Nevertheless, Alistair was the beast who’d made me afraid of werewolves. He was Colin's father. If he ever found out about me or Colin... I wrapped my arms around myself. Nausea roiled my stomach, and I took a few deep breaths as I shoved the thought away. Keep it together. Don't let them break you down like this. If I didn’t tell Dougal who I was, it could directly impact Colin. He didn't need more stress, given what was already happening with him.

“What’s wrong?” Dougal stepped into the light, and my breath hitched in my throat. “What happened while I was gone?” He took a few deep breaths as if trying to detect the reason for my concern. I wasn’t sure what was stronger: my intimidation of him, or my growing lust for him.

Panic flooded through me. This wasn’t who I was. For as long as I could remember, I’d hated werewolves. Their kind—aside from Colin—had treated me horribly, from my first meeting with Alistair, my mother’s ex-boyfriend, onwards. Why in the hell would I do this to myself? Why should I open up and trust him when he might very well side with the one who brought me here?

Rational thinking charged to rescue. I couldn’t make this all about myself. I needed to think about Colin too. Besides, if Dougal underestimated Alistair, he could be putting himself or his Pack at risk.

“If I’m going to be able to help you, then you need to talk to me.” He stared at me with such sincerity in his blue eyes.

“You might find this hard to believe, but I think I know why Alistair wants to hurt me.” Taking a deep breath, I forged on before I lost my courage. “I dislike the idea of opening up to anyone about this, least of all a werewolf a barely know.” I frowned at him. “But when I was a young girl, my human mother had an illicit relationship with a werewolf who used to beat me for being a feline shifter.”

“That werewolf is Alistair?” His eyes darkened and his features closed off. For a moment, I wondered if he’d been insulted by my statement. They were of the same Pack, after all. “Dinnae fash yersel. I’ll make sure that bastard pays for hurting you.” His accent thickened with suppressed emotions, and he stepped closer to the cage. “However, you still haven’t answered my previous questions.”

“My name is Caitlyn. Colin is…” Should I tell him the truth? It would be going against our agreement, and if Alistair knew, if Dougal told him—

“He’s your brother, isn’t he?” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I do see a wee bit of resemblance, and you have a lovely name.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I couldn’t hold back the words. I never expected this kind of treatment from a werewolf, ever.

“Why shouldn’t I be? You didn’t do anything. You’re simply a stubborn feline who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He smirked, his face lighting up, in stark contrast to the dark expression he’d worn moments before.

The floorboards above our heads groaned with the movement of many people, and I finally realized where I was: the Pack’s headquarters. It made perfect sense, and yet it filled me with impending dread. Once Colin got home, he’d smell the werewolves, and this was the first place he’d probably come.

“Don’t worry about them. You’ll be fine. I swear it.” He pulled the keys from his pocket, and I took a hasty step away from the door. “You don’t need to fear me.”

If only he knew. I wasn’t afraid he’d hurt me. I was more nervous that I’d bask in his presence and be hurt when the moon’s power faded and he tossed me aside. My leopardess reveled in the idea of being beneath his hard body.

The scent of his arousal answered my own as the door swung open. The front of his pants bulged outward from where his erection strained to be free from its confines. My fingers itched to release it, and I bit my nails into my palms, trying to regain my fragile control.

Darkness must’ve descended. This had to be the moon’s power. My lust for him before had been incredible, but now… now it was almost debilitating. Then again, I didn’t usually refrain from all sexual activity when the moon was full, so this could be Mother Nature throwing me headlong into bed with this wolf.

A low rumbling growl echoed from him, and before I knew what hit me, he was on me. He scooped me up, pulling my legs around his waist, pressing me into the bars. His lips slid over my throat and jaw, edging ever closer to my mouth. He shoved his hard, denim-covered cock between my legs, and I threw my head back, nearly mewling in ecstasy.

My cry seemed to light a fire within him. He slid a hand under my shirt and up my torso toward my breast. The amount of clothing between us was way too much. I wanted to get out of it and have Dougal fill my body, regardless of the fact we were in the cage. None of that mattered now, just this moment.

I cupped his face, enjoying the kisses on my body, but wanting to taste his lips with my own. I leaned in, sliding my tongue over his lower lip then gently nipping it with my teeth, before pressing onward to claim his mouth. He opened it to me, letting me delve into the hot, damp cavern, tangling his tongue with mine.

He softly pinched my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His palm was so incredibly warm, and I arched my back, wanting more of his affection. Moisture dampened my panties, and I wanted him inside me, regardless of all the torment I’d been through courtesy of werewolves. Dougal had much more compassion than craggy-faced Alistair.

I let out a low moan and rotated my hips to rub against him more. Reason tried to pipe up, tried to say that maybe we shouldn’t. After all, I was still a prisoner here. I still might be hung out to dry when Dougal was done with me, but I wouldn’t let myself think that way.

“I’m not rushing you into this, am I?” he asked, his voice gravelly. “If you want me to stop—”

I opened my mouth to protest, but hard footsteps clomped down the stairs. Colin’s scent hit my nose, and I shoved at Dougal’s chest. But it was way too late.

“Fuck ye dain, ya bastard? I can’t believe this. I come home to see my place trashed, my sister beaten and you about to have yer way with her.” Colin stomped into the light. His face was bright red and it looked like he was about to blow a fuse. “Not the type of reunion I’d hoped for. Get your hands off my sister and let her go.”

I pushed at Dougal’s shoulders when he didn’t budge. I knew there was probably some kind of Alpha werewolf thing going on, but he’d be stupid to have it out with my half-mad brother, especially since while I liked Dougal, I wouldn’t allow him to hurt Colin. Although, that didn’t mean that I necessarily wanted to be alone and in the same room with Colin and to have to explain all of this nonsense.

When Dougal finally did move, it was with slow even steps. “Mind your tongue. I didn’t do this to her.” He glanced back at me, his jaw tense and anger flashing in his eyes. My heart sank in my chest. He was going to say it, and I didn’t have a chance of stopping him. “Thank your father, Alistair.” With that, he opened the cage, slammed into Colin on his way past and walked to the base of the stairs. “Might I add, it’s probably safer for her to be in the cage with him on the loose, and she’s still my prisoner.”

When Dougal made it up the steps, Colin turned to me. “You’ve got a lot of explainin’ to do.”

* * *

The fact I’d almost gone to bed with Dougal after all I’d been through frustrated me. Why had I expected him to be different? He was just more of the same, like almost any other werewolf I’d had the misfortune of meeting. If only I wasn’t prisoner in his home…

But I knew he didn’t want to let me go. Maybe I should be comforted by that fact, but it just made me mad. I wasn’t some toy for him.

What was worse was that Colin had spotted us about to do the deed, and if he took even the slightest breath, he’d know it wasn’t forced. Part of me wished I’d been left in the cell, rather than go through Colin’s impending interrogation since it’d be embarrassing to admit I might’ve almost given into my lust.

The way Dougal had left after our incredibly sexual moment angered me. He’d not only been an arse to Colin, but he’d been rude to me as well. I’d opened up to him, told him about Alistair. Now I wished I hadn’t. This all opened up too big a can of worms that our mum had worked so hard to bury, and it was all on me to fix it.

Yet if it was up to me, I'd just as easily walk up that flight of stairs and disappear. But I couldn't do that. If I did, then there would be no one to protect Colin from Alistair. Not that he probably wanted—or needed—my help, but I refused to sit back while he bore more of this nonsense; not after what he'd been through with the scientists.

The look in his eyes as he stared at me told that I needed to start talking and stop internalizing soon, or he'd march up the steps to pull the answers from his Alpha, which I didn't want him to do. That kind of nonsense would be what might get him killed.

I took a step toward the cage's entrance, not sure if it was even safe for me to leave. Funny, since I'd been so sure that I wanted to remove my brother from one of these and now I didn't want to leave my own. However, I doubted he’d had a handsome and quite randy Alpha werewolf visiting him.

"Talk to me. What's going on here?" He remained in place, his hands were balled into fists at his sides, and his entire body trembled with the effort to keep himself somewhat calm.

"I..." Bloody hell... where did I even start? "Well, I went to your apartment to await your arrival and tidy up. Then..." I took a deep breath and sat on the cage floor, staring off into the darkness, because I didn't want to look at my broken brother whom I felt like I'd betrayed in between the intimacy with Dougal and holding in the secret about Alistair. "I was ambushed." I rambled on about the fight in his apartment and how I'd been desperate to keep away, then I'd woken up in the cage, and about how Alistair had threatened to find out who I was and how scared I'd been.

After a while, a soft scrap of leather on the concrete drew my attention, and I glanced over to see Colin sitting on the other side of the entrance, his gaze fixed on my bruised face with anger sparkling in its depths. "How do you know about Alistair? How can you be sure he's my father?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck...

I didn't want to answer that. The only way I'd be able to tell him would be to let him in on the real person and, furthermore, the reason why Mum had moved us away.

"If you don't want to tell me, I know ye have your reasons. I'd like to know if I've been told lies about the man." He kept his expression neutral, but I knew him enough to see the worry and sincerity peeking out through his eyes.

"Mum moved on from my father before I knew who he was. She didn't tell lies. I knew he was abusive to her and that's why she made the choice to leave him. When she met your father, Alistair, I was quite young. I remember thinking it'd be nice to have a pa. Mum didn't know what I was at that point. I don't think she realized the paranormal existed, neither did I... until Alistair. I didn't know what I was, until he..." I clenched the hem of the oversized T-shirt, rolling it in my fingers, doing anything to keep my mind from wandering to the horrific memories that still sometimes plagued my dreams. "He..." I couldn't seem to get the words out as much as I tried. Telling Dougal had been like it'd happened to someone else in another time. It had been a necessity to protect lives, but this was so much more personal.

Colin's warm hand pat my shin in a brotherly manner. "Dinnae feel you need to say more. I'm sorry you had to go through that and bravely keep silent all these years." Whereas before he'd looked utterly hostile, now he had pain tightening the corners of his lips and eyes. "We should get ye a change of clothes and to a secure place." He climbed to his feet with ease, and looked away to give me privacy since he probably feared me flashing him.

Frowning, my thoughts went back to what Dougal said. While I disliked the way he’d been so abrupt, I had to give him a little credit. I very well might be safest here, even if I hated to admit it.

I didn’t even bother to stand. The cage’s door clinked shut as I tugged it closed. “I’m staying here. Although, I won’t be opposed to the clothes.”

He spun to face me, surprise widening his eyes. “You’re bloody mad. Why are ye staying here?”

I smiled at him, but it didn’t reach all the way to my eyes. “I’m protected here. You are too.”

He grumbled and fetched some clothes for me. When he got back, he was still grumbling. However, I now had a T-shirt that didn’t reach my knees and pair of drawstring shorts that hung down to my calves, but at least I could tighten them enough that they hopefully wouldn’t fall off. Even the smell of wolves clinging to the clothes failed to grate on my nerves.

Maybe things were beginning to look up a wee bit.

Chapter Four

Dougal

My body still burned from almost having sex with Caitlyn. Pacing my father’s study didn’t help me feel any better. Her naked form prowled through my thoughts, and I slumped into my da’s favorite chair.

What had I done? She was a feline, for heaven’s sake.

I’d strayed far from tradition and beyond what any other Alpha would do. Mating with a female werewolf was considered the prime goal for a male, especially one of higher and pure Pack rank. But the ratio of males to females was vastly lopsided, so the next best things were human women. Granted, we had to be more careful with them, but they were necessary to furthering our bloodline.

Stepping outside the boundaries of normalcy, especially for someone like me, was off limits. Copulating with a feline shifter might produce a feline, which wouldn’t be looked upon well. A feline wouldn’t be able to run a group of werewolves. If that happened, I’d have no heir to pass down the title of Alpha to.

I slammed my fist on the armchair. If my father had seen me do that, he would’ve tanned my hide. Pain burned in my chest that he wasn’t here to guide me and provide some much needed reason to the situation. He’d been strong, loyal to a fault and the perfect leader.

So far, I’d managed to fail in all of those things.

Loud knocking on the study’s door made me jerk upright in the chair.

“Come in,” I called. Two possibilities existed in my mind as to who could be behind that door. Either Colin was here to give me a piece of his mind, or I’d receive news about Alistair. I seriously doubted Caitlyn would ever want to see me again. The slight pause made me question myself. Could I be wrong? “Come in!”

The door finally opened, and Hendrie, one of the younger wolves, stood in the doorway. The grim look upon his bruised face spoke of trouble. But even if I felt overwhelmed with the siblings, Alistair was a problem I could solve.

“Laird,” Hendrie bowed his head before walking into the room to stand before me. “There’s news about Alistair. We momentarily found him, or to put it a better way, he found Duncan and me while we were searching. We fought him as best we could, but I couldn’t save him. Alistair was too strong. Duncan is…”

“Dead.” I finished for him, sadness and rage mixing in my gut. My canines ached to be unleashed, as did the tips of my fingers where claws were ready to unsheathe from my human body. If only I’d gone on the hunt myself. Instead I’d nearly fornicated with a… beautiful woman.

Even as I wanted to downgrade my feelings for her, to put them away as imaginary or insignificant, I knew deep down in my heart that they were real. I cared about her.

Soft footsteps in the hallway caught my attention, and I glanced up to see Colin standing in the doorway behind Hendrie. “Duncan is dead?” His cheeks reddened as he looked between Hendrie and me. “For fuck’s sake.”

Colin was very different from the man I’d known before he’d visited the States. Much more on edge and like he’d break at any minute. He’d kept himself from falling apart, but I think having his sister in danger could be credited for that.

“Aye, that he is.” Hendrie shuffled his feet a little, uneasiness wafting off him.

"What's going to be done to avenge his death and protect my sister?" Colin walked further into the room, expectation in his eyes.

Part of me wanted to growl at him, telling him how stupid he was to be coming in here and pissing me off when I was finding dealing with the death harder than he. But I would be the better man. I'd do what was expected of me.

The leather chair creaked as I shifted my weight, making me think of my father again. How would he handle this situation? With dignity and compassion, and that was exactly how I'd do things too. People looked to me to be the stronger one. My father and grandfather had gone through challenges much harder than this. Now it was my time to gain respect from the Pack.

"We're going to find the bastard and repay him in kind for what he's done." I rose from the chair, holding my shoulders back as I did. "Hendrie, tell the others."

"Aye, laird." Hendrie bowed his head again and backed up a few steps like that, before turning to leave. It was as if I were a king of old. The wolves stuck to those kinds of traditions more strictly than any humans did, and they were the ones who had come up with these etiquettes.

When he was gone, I turned my attention back to Colin. "Where's your sister?" I didn't exactly want to get into this conversation with him, but I needed to be sure that she was okay. I'd do whatever I could to protect her, regardless of what she thought of me.

His eyes darkened a little at the question, but he took a few breaths, releasing his stress before he answered. "She's locked herself back in the cage. She thinks that it’s the place that will offer her the most protection." He looked like he begged to differ there, but he didn't comment further. "She's peckish, so I'm going out to get her food."

"I don't know if that'd be wise after Duncan's death. Alistair is out there and he's shown he's willing to kill his own." Although, I wondered if he’d targeted Duncan because he'd thought the other man had ratted on him. That was beside the point, really.

"Fine." Colin crossed his muscle arms over his chest, and my wolf prickled at the slight challenge. "What do ye expect me to do then?" We were on high enough alert that we didn't need to deal with anyone's attitude least of all that of the brother who'd interrupted my tryst with his sister. It was for the best, but it didn't mean I had to like it.

"There are crisps in the kitchen. That'll tide her over for a moment." If I'd been thinking straight, I would've made sure she'd eaten, but I hadn't had a chance to with all that'd gone on. Crisps wouldn't subdue her hunger for long. Shifters needed meat, protein, to satisfy the animal within.

Colin narrowed his eyes at me, but he walked off leaving the door open behind him. It was for the best. I'd done enough sulking about. If I wanted Alistair under our control, then I needed to go out and help the search myself.

The best defense was a good offense, and it was time Alistair paid for what he'd done.

Chapter Five

Caitlyn

My stomach grumbled again and I pressed my hands against it. It was surprisingly good seeing Colin again. While we'd never been exceptionally close before, I didn't think I'd want our relationship to stay that way in the future. He'd been understanding and caring when I'd told him about his father. I'd never anticipated that during all the times I'd played it over in my head.

There was a lot more activity in the house above than there'd been previously, and I wondered what was going on. Colin hadn't talked a lot about the werewolves, so I'd never really asked. I assumed they were probably having some kind of meeting.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I leaned my head back against the cage bars. It'd been a while since I'd truly slept, but even now with Colin gone to grab food, I didn't feel comfortable. Just knowing Alistair was out there was enough to put me on edge. Perhaps if I'd acquiesced to Colin's choice of going somewhere else I wouldn't be so tense. But that wasn't to be. Not anymore.

Part of me wished I'd asked him to turn off the spotlight before he'd left, but I'd gotten so distracted by his company and food. The darkness closed in around me, and I closed my eyes against it. While I wasn't afraid of the dark, I knew to be afraid of what lurked within it.

The soft creak of a door perked up my ears, and I looked to the direction of the stairs, expecting to see Colin with some food, or maybe even Dougal coming back to apologize. Not that I realistically thought he'd do that. But the creaking hadn't come from the stairs.

Butterflies fluttered in my belly, and I stood holding back any trace of pain from my face. Alistair. It had to be him. I clenched my hands into fists, keeping my ears open and taking deep breaths, one after another. "What do you want?" My heart thumped in my chest like a small animal trying to dig its way out.

The leopard within me beckoned to let her be free. Let her take care of our problem instead of worrying so. The sweet call of her spirit gently and patiently nudged at my weakened willpower, nearly making me give in.

No, as I'd suspected before, it would be a bad idea to let myself become overpowered by the beast. Once I let go, I didn't know if I'd be able to cling to humanity enough to reel her in, if I needed to. While others were at ease with their animals, I knew mine well enough to know not to completely trust the siren's song. My beast was powerful, but when it came to close quarters combat with a werewolf, I wanted to have my own thoughts flowing through my head.

“I know who you are now, kitty cat.” He let out a deep rumbling chuckle. “You still have that diamond-shaped birthmark on your thigh, the same as when you were a young lass over my knee. Took some time for me to place it, but how could I possibly forget you? You’re memorable. The whore’s little kitten.”

Revulsion and despair clenched in my entire body like a vise. Memories flooded back in, and I bared my teeth in his direction. The rasp of tennis shoes on concrete to my right told me that he was just out of sight, hiding in the shadows. Again, I cursed myself for not having the foresight to ask that the incredibly bright light spotlight be turned off. Then I would've been able to use my heightened eyesight to see him through the dark. But as it was, I was nearly blinded when I looked upward to the height at which Alistair stood—good for the werewolves who were preparing to interrogate people efficiently, and bad for me because I was the pseudo-prisoner in this situation.

“You’re a bloody arsehole!” The bars rattled to my left, and I whirled to face him. He remained out of sight, and the whole situation drove anger through my chest like a stake.

“Tsk. I bet your mum wouldn’t approve of that language. She wasn’t one for cursing. Perhaps I should take you over my knee like in the olden days.” He jingled the door, testing his strength against it. “What do you think of that, kitten? We could play all sorts of bedroom games. You always enjoyed those.”

“Fuck you,” I hissed. My leopard sent another gentle nudge, brushing against the surface of my skin, wanting me to give in. The idea was looking better and better. Fear spiraled through me, and my grasp of the uneasy self-control I warred with loosened. My fingers extended, claws breaking through their tips and replacing the nails. I groaned in discomfort and held my hands at my sides. The change was starting and I couldn't fight it anymore.

My legs gave way and I landed on all fours. The delicate cotton material of the T-shirt stretched and ripped as my muscles made wet popping sounds as they lengthened and reformed. Bones snapped below the surface of my skin, reshaping into my leopardess build. The horrific sounds echoed obscenely loudly through the room, enclosing the cage.

I whimpered; even my voice had changed from normal female to gravelly leopard. The one positive thing was that while my eyesight had been obliterated by the light, the wereleopard could see the wolf in human form staring, calculating and watching us. We didn't like it. Not at all. We wanted him to leave, and if he wouldn't leave, then he would bleed.

My teeth pushed from my gums, clinking to the floor as new, sharper feline fangs slid into place. Fur pushed through my skin and my body felt like a hive of bees was stinging it. But almost as soon as the pain began, it was over. I arched my spine, stretching out my newer, more powerful form.

"You can try to hide in that body, kitten, but you won't be able to do it forever. I'll catch you when you least expect it, then you'll pay for squealing to Mummy." His eyes glimmered with malice, and even in wereleopard form, I was afraid. That shouldn't be possible since I was more powerful than he was at the moment, but that didn't matter. He possessed a deep hold on my mind that haunted me.

We didn't want anything to do with him. If I was free right now and a safe distance from him, I would grab my things and leave. I’d spend my life on the run. I refused to be in the same territory as him. While werewolves weren't very pleasant to other shifters, they weren't all like this. I knew what my brother had said about the Pack he'd been briefly part of in the States before he'd been captured. Perhaps I might be able to ask to go back to their territory, despite my feelings for Dougal. Maybe I could find somewhere that didn't have a large group of wolves. Not that this area did, not anymore, but they... No, Alistair was more vicious than most. He'd never let me live in peace. I'd always be looking over my shoulder.

My mum had told me to leave and become nomadic. I had for a while, but that wasn't the kind of life I wanted to lead. I'd had enough of that growing up, especially when my father, and then Alistair, had tried to find her... us. By staying out of sight and one step ahead of them, we’d survived, and Colin had been able to live a fairly normal childhood. That was good. Life had more than made up for it as he’d aged.

I kept my gaze on Alistair as he circled the cage, taking my new form in. He licked his lips and walked back into the deeper shadows.

My leopard snarled at him and we took two steps in his direction, hoping to scare him away. Instead, he smirked in amusement. "Don't think you can intimidate me. I know who you are. You’re weak, timid, frightened. You’re my prisoner." He slid his meaty hand through the bars to rub over my back.

I snapped my teeth around his hand, savoring the stream of blood flowing down my throat. It was sweet, coppery, and I relished the fact we were making him bleed. I bit harder, jerking his arm further into the cage.

He stumbled at the suddenness, growling and yelping at the pain. His head smacked the cage with force, and he reached his other arm in through the bars to get me off him. He punched me in the face but I held on, closing my eyes and focusing solely on his blood on my lips. The pain from the transformation had faded, but the hurt in my face was intense. He was strong, but we knew that.

I jumped back, yanking at his arm once again. He smashed his face against the bars, cursing up a storm. I tried to dodge the next blow, but it was too little, too late. His fist pummeled my head, strike after heavy strike.

One moment I was conscious with my teeth ripping into his wrist, and the next I was on the cage's floor, while the bright lights dimmed in my eyes.

Groaning, I fought to rise to my feet, to keep fighting, but he was walking away from the cage, disappearing into the dark. No, he couldn’t be going after Dougal and Colin. My vision blackened, and then sound faded completely.

Chapter Six

Dougal

Something wasn’t right. I could feel it in my bones. The snarls of an angry wereleopard had cut up through the floor, and then were gone just as immediately. I hadn’t heard Colin head back downstairs yet. There was no reason for her to cry out like that—

Except for Alistair.

I rushed to the basement, taking the stairs two or three at a time. While I tried to rationalize my feelings toward Caitlyn, I couldn’t deny them. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted another. Maybe it was strictly physical…or it could be the beginning of something deeper.

When I turned the corner, my heart ached at the sight of Caitlyn lying on the floor unconscious as she melted into human form, naked, with blood smearing her battered face and chest. My fists balled up at my sides and anger slammed into my chest, nearly taking away my breath.

Reasoning flew out of my head and I was at the cage’s door with keys in hand, desperate to check on her. The Pack’s doctor was presently tending to Duncan’s body, but as soon as Caitlyn was somewhere safe, I’d be bringing him back to check on her condition.

Instantly, I knew Alistair had been here. His scent lingered in the air, and I swirled around just in time to get body-slammed. Air rushed from my chest at the impact, and I blinked up into the bright spotlight as he leaned over me. His fist was cocked back ready to strike. That bastard.

He might’ve been bigger than me, but I was the Alpha for a reason. Power ran through my bloodline, and I wouldn’t be taken out by a monster who abused women and children. I opened the path that connected with my beast, letting him flow into me, but not enough to transform into my wolf form.

“Shite, you’re just like your da. I never did like that wanker.” He threw the punch, but I dodged it and used his momentum to throw him. He hit a wall opposite the cage and landed with a heavy oomph.

“What the fuck!” Colin rounded the corner, taking in the scene. He vibrated with anger, and I couldn’t see this father-son reunion going well. If I had my way, I would’ve handled this solo, but I knew just how furious the man was.

Alistair climbed to his feet and stared us both down. “Another minion of the wolf prince to do your bidding.” He huffed. “Can’t handle me without the Pack’s help, I see.”

Colin took a step forward. Tension raged within through him. I was impressed that he hadn’t lost it with all of Alistair’s goading. “I could end you. I’ve seen you fight before… Father.”

“Stand down, Colin!” I jumped between them. Alistair would die, but he’d die at my hand. I couldn’t bear the thought of any others being injured by this rogue wolf.

Alistair’s jaw dropped open and he stared at Colin in awe instead of hatred. “You’re my son?” He took a step toward him to get a better look. “I do see a bit of resemblance.”

“Sorry, laird.” Colin bared his teeth. “I can’t let this man continue breathing the same air as my sister.”

“Her?” Alistair waved his hand at the cage, then spat on the ground near our feet. “You’re the whore’s lad. Your mum was quite a ride for a wh—”

I threw myself at him. The force of my change from man to wolf was like magic, another gift of being an Alpha. I snapped my jaws around his throat, digging my fangs deeper until I knew I was cutting off his wind.

He rammed his fingers into my mouth, but I wouldn’t let go. When that didn’t work, he pressed his thumbs into my eyes. Pain gripped me and I jerked back, ripping out his throat. Gore coated my chest and I sank back onto my haunches. My head ached and I knew a few painkillers wouldn’t do me any good. This might well call for some of my da’s Scotch whisky.

“Ye should’ve let me handle him.” However, the tone of Colin’s voice was cautious and careful, like he expected me to do the same to him any moment now.

I just leveled him a stare, before starting the much slower and more painful transformation back to myself. The wolf was satiated from the kill. He didn’t have the same urgency to fade back into the background as he did to take over my human body.

“I am Alpha. This is my Pack. I’m responsible for everyone’s wellbeing.” I looked toward the cage to see Caitlyn move a little. “Even hers.”

“Aye, laird.” Colin bowed his head.

“Fetch the doctor to my bedroom. Caitlyn should be seen to.” He wouldn’t like me saying this, but I almost felt a need for him to understand. “Wait. There’s something I need to tell you.” Colin turned back to me. “I think your sister is my mate. I feel something for her deep within my soul, and so does my wolf. I don’t expect you to accept how I feel, but I’d appreciate if you could tolerate it.”

He drew his shoulders back and his chin up, but he nodded. “So long as she feels the same and you take care of her.” With that, he headed upstairs, but I respected his stance.

I unlocked the cage to check on Caitlyn. I desperately wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her no one would ever hurt her or those she cared for while I was around, and that was a fact. She would be mine, and mine only, even if she wasn’t a werewolf.

While I might get a lot of criticism from the Pack, I wanted to have her.

I knelt at her side and she groaned a little. My heart pounded with relief that she was starting to wake up, and that her injuries might not be as bad as I’d initially thought. With all of that blood coating her, I couldn’t have been sure. However, looking over her slight, toned form, I knew she held a respectable amount of strength within her.

She squinted her eyes open, and I kept still, unsure how she would react by me, especially after our earlier encounter. If she was uncomfortable, she might attack, and I didn't want her to further hurt herself.

Instead of lashing out, she blinked a few times and let out a steady sigh.

"Are you okay?" I asked, uncertain of what to say. She groaned in response. I scooted a little closer to her. "Alistair’s dead. You and Colin are safe now. Let me help you."

She nodded and closed her eyes again. Her nude body was like the painting of a Greek goddess come to life. I tried to keep my focus on her face, but her perky breasts drew my attention. They were more spectacular than I could’ve imagined. I stopped myself at her trim stomach. No, I wouldn't stoop to that level.

I slid my arms under her. She winced a little but didn’t fight me. Still, I took things slow and easy. I had to get her upstairs to my room and have her wounds treated. My mistake had been to leave her in the cage, thinking she’d be safe there. It had only made her more vulnerable.

She peeked through her eyelids again. "What are you doing with me?" Her voice was weaker than it had been, and I forced myself not to clench my jaw and just remain calm.

"I'm taking you to get treated by the Pack’s physician. You'll be fine, I promise." I gave her a slight smile, doing my best to put her at ease. While she might not trust me, I wanted her to feel safe.

She kept her eyes open and her gaze bore into me, as if searching for something I’d left unsaid. But I didn't blame her. Our species had a rough history, and what had happened before didn’t improve things.

We headed upstairs. A couple of werewolves were around, and I felt their eyes on me. A tense feeling of unease sizzled through the air, and I knew Caitlyn felt it too. The other Pack members knew something was up between us, and I couldn’t be sure if Colin had told them about Alistair’s demise. That meeting would wait until Caitlyn was being looked after.

The wolves around us curiously watched the scene, but no one said anything. I straightened my shoulders and held my head up high, thinking about how my father would act if he was in a situation like this. He wouldn't let anyone make him feel insecure. He'd show himself to be the strong, capable Alpha he was.

“Are ye hurt, laird?” Kerr parted the growing crowd. “Shall I carry the lass?”

I shook my head, feeling her tense in my arms. “The doctor is awaiting us in my bedroom. I’ve got her.” The wolves dispersed a little, and I leaned a little closer to my second. "Alistair is dead downstairs. Once the doctor assists her, I’d like him to handle the body. I’ll hold a Pack meeting once I’m well. Anyone not in attendance without a fair excuse will be punished." I stared around the room, meeting gazes when I could. The wolves lowered theirs, and I felt a little more in control again.

“Aye, Alpha.” Kerr bowed his head, then turned to the others. “Enough gawking. Back to yer business, people.”

I walked down the hall to my bedroom and shut the door behind us. What was I going to do with a feline mate? I didn't even know much about her.

When I set her on the bed, she was out cold. Thoughts raced through my head as I waited on the doctor. Would she even want me? My jaw clenched at the wave of stress hammering at me with the possibilities.

Once she woke up, I'd know, for better or for worse.

Chapter Seven

Caitlyn

My body ached like fire burning under my skin and through my battered muscles. Alistair had done quite a number on me. I didn't want to think about the rage in his eyes, or the force behind his fists as he pummeled my head. But those were the least of my bad memories about him.

A groan slipped from my lips, and I heard the creak of a chair nearby. My heart pounded in my chest like a trapped bird, but I pulled myself back from the edge. No, I'd be taken from the cage. I was safe. Dougal had carried me upstairs and promised to take care of me.

I didn't know what to think of him after our argument, but he’d been by my side when I was injured. Maybe he did care about me, and our close encounter hadn’t been all sexual.

Dougal leaned into view and worry slid through his eyes. "You're awake. I was beginning to get worried. You took quite a punch."

"No need to worry about me. I’m stronger than I look.” I bit my lower lip as he flashed me a grin. Emotions rushed through me at the care he’d shown, and his rugged good looks didn’t hurt, either. "Where’s my brother?"

“I bet you are.” He glanced away from me. “Your brother has been by your side as you recovered, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He left a while ago to start his own healing process.” He sat back in his chair that was pulled up beside the bed, propping his feet next to my mine. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to talk with him before he left.”

My heart ached, but I knew that was why he’d come back to Scotland. He needed to heal from his own emotional wounds. "Did he say when he might be back?" I knew it was a silly question, but I couldn’t help asking.

He shook his head. "No, he didn’t." His jaw clenched, and he stared at me with such compassion in his eyes. It reminded me of the first time we’d met. However, that encounter had taken a slightly more erotic turn. The thought of him jumping on the bed and stripping me of my remaining clothing, fiercely kissing me, splaying me out for him and ravaging my body, leapt into my head with such intensity. If I hadn’t kept my eyes open, I’d have thought it had happened for real. I squeezed my legs closed. This wasn’t the most appropriate time for wanting those things.

His nostrils flared and he trailed his gaze over my body, before returning his attention back to my face. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, except that his eyes had darkened to a smoldering wolf amber, and I licked my dry lips. He took in that small action, then he once again dropped his eyes further, taking in my breasts that rose and fell quickly as I shoved air in and out of my lungs in harsh pants.

"Why do I feel this way about you?" I asked quietly.

"We’re mates. I’ve never felt this way for anyone else, and I’ve never wanted anyone else like I want you." His words were huskier than they had been, and I noticed he squirmed a little in his chair. The depth of his attraction filled my heart with joy. I wasn’t alone in my feelings.

Taking in a deep breath, I scented his arousal, and a smile curved my lips. The flush of his skin and the way he looked a little shy tickled me. While I wished I could be there for my brother, more than I’d been able to so far, I also wanted to experience with Dougal what Colin had interrupted downstairs.

He leapt onto the bed faster than I could even react, his body covering mine, and he stared down at me. "Your scent is driving me to my breaking point. I need to be inside you. It’s consumed my thoughts, but as I said, I don’t want to rush you into this."

My heart beat frantically. Part of me wondered what Colin would think to find me mated with his Alpha, but I couldn’t care. The emotion running through me was mine to bear, and I would be stupid to shove Dougal aside just because of our species differences. “I want you filling my body. You’re not rushing this. I dinnae want to stop our earlier encounter, either.”

"You just keep burying yourself deeper." He leaned closer and my body lit aflame beneath him. The space between us burned up like a wildfire, and the idea of closing the distance sent warmth spreading through me.

I leaned up a little, our lips nothing more than a hair’s breadth away.

He fisted his hands in the sheets near my shoulders, and his body trembled with restrained passion.

I licked my lips again, nervously, and my tongue unintentionally brushed against his lower lip. I'd forgotten, and yet...

He froze for a couple of heartbeats before crushing his mouth against mine in a frenzy that I'd expected, but that I'd thought might never come. The fact it was here made my heart skip a beat in sheer gladness.

His kiss bordered on forceful, but its passionate intensity stole my breath away. I wrapped my arms around him, balling my hands into his shirt, uncaring if I ripped it apart or not. He shoved his tongue against my lips and teeth, wanting entrance. The heady scent of his arousal overpowered me, drowning me in lust.

My leopard brushed against the surface of my skin, nearly letting out a rumbling purr at the sensations Dougal lit within us. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who wanted this.

He slid his hand over my arm and goosebumps broke out over my skin. Heat burned me and I took a deep breath, soaking in his heat and basking in him.

My hands trailed over his muscular torso to the hem of his shirt. I tugged with one sharp pull and the material fell apart in my hands. The sight of his hard chest sent shivers through me. He looked so powerful and strong, exactly what I'd expect of an Alpha. Moisture formed between my legs and we weren’t even naked yet.

I looked into his eyes. I didn't know the protocol for when you were about to have sex with an Alpha, but I wouldn’t avoid his gaze while we were this intimate. He met mine, and his hot look of desire burned into me. Any animal challenge had been taken away and replaced by sexy dominance. That wasn't usually my thing, but I could possibly make an exception in this case. Having him over me while he looked at me like that was spectacular.

He slid off the side of the bed and jerked the blankets off me, sending them flying to the floor. I gasped. His grip was gentle as he pulled me toward him, so that my legs were dangling off the edge. I looked up at him, my breath coming out faster, and he grabbed the oversized T-shirt, ripping it in two, before stripping off my shorts and leaving me naked except for my panties.

Dougal lowered his head to my breasts and caressed one perky nipple with his tongue, then pressed kisses to the surrounding flesh. "You taste so good."

His hand dropped a little lower, toying with the hem of my panties, but he didn't do anything just yet as if he wanted my permission. I pulled his mouth up to kiss him. Letting whatever I felt for him soak into the passionate exchange between us. I was ready. I wouldn’t just let this go, not again.

He hardened under my advances and pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. “Are you sure about this?” His breath brushed against my lips and his voice was husky with desire.

I knew he didn’t want to pull away, but I respected this one last attempt to give me an out. He wouldn’t try to take what he wanted, regardless of how I felt. The more I knew Dougal, the less I could discount him as another horrible werewolf. He’d already proven himself as so much more than that.

“Yes,” I said, any uncertainty I’d ever felt was gone. I arched my back, pressing into him and moaning. “I’m certain. Now get yerself naked.”

He smirked and pulled back again. “Aye.” He slid his pants down. No underwear marred my view of his thick cock. “Your turn.” In one swift move, he removed my panties.

I lay before him, ripe for the taking. My body burst into flames. If he could affect me this much without even touching me, then how would it be with him inside me?

He pulled my bum a little closer to the edge and carefully wedged himself between my thighs. With his size, I couldn’t be sure I’d sheath all of him, but I wanted to try. His abs flexed as he eased himself within me, going far too slowly for my tastes, but I marveled at the sight of his muscles moving beneath his skin. “You’re wet, lass.” He smirked at me and started with gentle rocking thrusts. While I loved the feeling of him inside me, I needed so much more.

Pleasure ignited in me at the movement. “You’re magnificent,” I said breathily. But under his brave demeanor, I felt his body slightly shake with pent-up need to claim. “Take me. Claim my body as yours. I’m not a fragile human.”

He froze mid-thrust and blinked at me in surprise, but he nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” I ran my hands over his chest, raking my nails over his skin as he slammed into me. My body arched of its own accord and I threw my head back. My leopardess rumbled with the intensity, and I clenched the bed sheets, not caring if I ripped them to pieces.

He eagerly picked up the pace, holding my hips with fingers that dug into my flesh to keep me from moving beneath him. His cock swelled within me until I knew he too was growing ever closer to ecstasy.

“Dougal,” I cried out, as desire crashed through my body like a giant wave. I pulled him down to me, desperate to hold onto him like a lifeboat and not drown in the sensation. His echoing groans of pleasure and the hot warmth of his release within me stabilized me.

When the moment subsided, he lifted me into his arms, his semi-erect cock still within me. Contentment warmed his eyes. “Once we’ve had brunch, I’d like to do that again.”

I pressed a kiss to his lips. “Why wait? I might need help in the bath.” The second I said that, his erection grew once more. Dougal had no trouble with stamina, and I couldn’t wait to find out all his other talents…

But would the delicious sex be enough to withstand the Pack’s judgment? Werewolves didn’t play well with other shifters, and I couldn’t expect the wolves to change their mind about me just because I was intimate with their Alpha.

Dougal ran his hands down my back, cupping my arse. Any doubts I had floated away spurred by his gentle caresses. Instead was a burning hunger for more of him. All of him.

I’d have plenty of time to worry about the Pack. Besides, maybe he’d be both the protector I needed and the leader his people desired. If anyone could accomplish that feat, it would have to be him.

Time would tell.

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Sarah Mäkelä loves her fiction dark, magical, and passionate. She is a paranormal romance author, but she's written all over the romance spectrum with cyberpunk, sci-fi, fantasy, urban fantasy...even a sweet contemporary romance!

A life-long paranormal fan, she still sleeps with a night light. In her spare time, she reads sexy books, watches scary movies (and Ghost Adventures), and plays computer games with her husband. When she gets the chance, she loves traveling the world too.

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Knights of Stone

Lisa Carlisle

Knights of Stone

Copyright 2014 Lisa Carlisle

The right of Lisa Carlisle to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please do so through your retailer’s “lend” function. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at lisacarlislebooks@gmail.com.

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at lisacarlislebooks.com, facebook.com/lisacarlisleauthor, or @lisacbooks.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, I’d like to thank my husband. If he didn’t cook, we’d never eat since I’m always on my laptop! I treasure his support of my writing, even if it means I’m turning on the lamp at 2am to jot notes so I don’t forget. Also, I thank my family and friends for tolerating my multiple projects, leaving me unable to socialize much. I can rarely sit through a movie without drifting off and returning to work on my latest project.

I also want to thank my editor, critique partners, and new beta readers, Iliana and Trisha. You don’t know how much I treasure and value your feedback. Thank you!

CHAPTER ONE

The crowd pushed Kayla closer to the stage as the last trails of fiery sunset faded. They knew what happened once darkness fell. She recovered her footing and focused again on the five life-sized stone gargoyles perched on pedestals on the perimeter of the stage. The space between them was set with instruments—guitars, a drum set, mic stands, and massive amplifiers, while a bonfire in a pit behind them cast the statues in a warm glow.

A stagehand with tartan draped over one shoulder climbed onto the stage and walked to the closest statue. He fastened the kilt over its shoulder and around its waist with a thick belt, covering the statue’s massive thighs. Kayla flushed, picturing why the coverings were necessary once the transformation began. The kilt had become a key detail in her fantasies about the guitarist, since it was the only clothing he wore. The stagehand continued dressing each statue with the same brilliant blue tartan worn by the gargoyle clan.

The last vestige of sunlight disappeared from the sky, and night draped the stage like a closing curtain. The statues loomed, dark silhouettes barely discernible by the crescent moon with the backdrop of the craggy cliffs and the rugged peaks of waves in the Atlantic Ocean behind them. The murmur of voices was replaced by silence. Waiting…

Five torches blazed on the stage all at once, lit by an unseen force. The audience erupted in cheers as the dancing lights from the flickering fire basked the statues. The flames lowered, casting the gargoyles in an eerie, almost reverent glow.

Movement. So slight, Kayla wondered if it was simply a play of light and shadows in her anticipation for the change. She fixed her gaze on the statue in front of her, the one she’d gravitated to each time she’d had snuck out to see the show. Its massive gray form stood straight on two legs built for sturdiness. Its chest jutted out proudly. Gray wings with detailed feathers etched in the stone arched from a point below its shoulder blades. Eyes cast straight ahead on a face that appeared to be a mixture of canine and lion. Its right hand twitched, so slightly she would have missed it if she hadn’t stared so intently. Then a clawed foot inched forward.

Murmurs of astonishment burst from the crowd as the transformation began. Their cries of fervor grew louder as the monstrous statues transformed into taller, slimmer figures with the bronzed skin of warriors who battled under the midday sun. The tartan fabric fell over their thighs as they stood erect, covering their nudity.

Kayla barely blinked, mesmerized as always, as the statue before her stood to full height, taking on the form of a human male, but with beautiful raven wings. Hair just as black snaked rebelliously past his chin. The stony eyes flickered with animation, turning to a mossy green. His deep gaze seared the audience, seeming to burn anything in the path. When he found Kayla, he stopped. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his unblinking eyes made her swallow. She froze under the scrutiny as if hypnotized, unable to break eye contact. Her stomach lurched, heart pounded, and every muscle in her body tightened, fueled with blood now scorching through her veins. His penetrating appraisal affected her so. When his eyes took on a smoldering glint, her skin tingled and a red-hot awareness grew between her thighs.

He broke the stare and continued to assess the audience. She gasped, not realizing she had been holding her breath, and panted while she tried to breathe at a normal rate.

He turned on robust legs and strode to a guitar stand. She tore her eyes from him to note the other gargoyles. They, too, had shifted into the form of striking males. One had black hair draped further down his back, one had long blond hair, and two had reddish-brown hair—one wavy and shaggy, the other straight. They took their place at other instruments. She sought the guitarist again and caught the first sound of the pick striking the strings. On hearing the guitar projected through the amp, the crowd roared again, pressing Kayla forward.

The freak show was about to begin.

Spotlights flooded the musicians, powered by solar panels near a massive amplifier. The guitarist continued playing and the others joined in, playing a raucous crossover between hard rock and heavy metal. The one with long blond hair grabbed hold of the microphone and belted out a shattering cry that sounded like a call to battle. The crowd went pin drop silent to listen and then cheered in unison as the band played on. The front man sang piercing growls and low croons about the Knights in Stone, the protectors of the ancient forests, battling against the evil tree witches.

Kayla’s coven.

* * * * *

Blood pumped through Mason’s system, animating him during the transition to his human form. Every cell in his body ignited with the change from stone to flesh.

He scanned the crowd again for any threats. Since humans on nearby islands had discovered the island, it was only a matter of time before the government found out about it. If they discovered the shapeshifters on the island, no doubt they’d try to capture them and study them in a lab.

Once reassured there were no threats, he searched the crowd for the woman he’d been thinking about. Energy from the change to human form invigorated him, especially his libido. He spotted the pixie-like female three rows back.

She’d returned.

This was the fifth night he’d seen her at the Knights of Stone shows. Each night, she’d moved a bit closer, braving the frantic energy of the audience. He searched for her every evening now, figuring she must be from the nearby islands. One of these nights, he would have to seduce her, to get this woman who’d penetrated his thoughts out of his system. He needed to find a way to get her alone, away from this crowd. At least she didn’t appear to be with anyone. Peculiar. How many trips had she taken to the Isle of Stone alone?

Humans on nearby islands had only recently discovered the Isle of Stone. In decades past, the three clans of the island—tree witches, gargoyles, and wolves, had cloaked their land with many layers of protection. Their combined magic had created such a powerful force it had remained undetected by human technology. When a feud erupted between the witches and gargoyles twenty-five years ago it led to a division of land. Without reinforcements from the clans’ combined magic, the protection seeped away. Humans on nearby islands sailed over and discovered its mysterious inhabitants.

His brother Calum shrieked a wild cry that began the next song, The Hunt. Mason and his brothers played a driving instrumental that quickened as Calum sang a tale. The object of the hunt was left ambiguous—it could be an enemy, an animal, or even a lass—but as the music rose to its climax, it left no question as to the outcome.

The prey was captured.

Tonight, Mason had a hunt with one particular human in mind. He played his guitar with more fervor as he envisioned taking the young beauty into the woods. He’d drill into her against an oak tree in the forest beyond, giving her an even better story for her to brag about to her friends when she returned home. If there was one thing he and his brothers had learned about females on his visits to cities like Edinburgh and London, it was that few could resist the bad boy appeal of a rock star.

Mason and his four brothers were the only gargoyles who remained on the island. They didn’t cringe at their arrival as the rest of the clan had, but instead saw it as an opportunity to play for an audience as themselves—gargoyles—not masquerading as humans. They insisted the humans keep their existence a secret if they wanted the shows to continue.

Word of mouth about the show spread to other islands and it was only a matter of time before it reached the mainland, eventually reaching the ears of government officials. Scientists would flock to the island to try to understand how the isle had remained hidden all this time. Mason and his brothers had discussed how the isle would puzzle scientists and stimulate the imaginations of conspiracy theorists. Humans would come up with all kinds of foolhardy explanations ranging from secret military installations to alien colonization. His brother, Gavin, had come up with the best reason yet, claiming the isle had arisen from the depths of the Atlantic, an ancient civilization reborn through the shifts of the tectonic plates. And as sure as humans would invent bizarre reasons for the isle, their greed for money would soon follow. Corporations would exploit the mysterious origins of the island as a way to make money. Perhaps with tourism and advertisements of extravagant trips to a mystical island—possibly with bizarre claims such as the water’s ability to cure ailments.

The gargoyles knew their time here on the stage was limited and they had to have constant vigilance for human intrusion.

Mason kept watch for anything suspicious while he played, yet also kept his eyes peeled for attractive women. He scanned the audience to see the others who had come tonight, but his gaze returned to the dark-haired one. What was it about her?

His gaze bore into her, and she stared back from wide eyes, almost too large for her heart-shaped face. Blood rushed right to his shaft as he thought about how he would take her in the woods.

Why wait any longer? He’d try to get her alone tonight.

* * * * *

Kayla couldn’t tear her eyes off the guitarist. Something about the way he looked at her tonight overwhelmed any coherent thought. If her coven knew she was on this side of the island cavorting with the gargoyles, the punishment would be severe. He was one of the species her coven had warned her about. Vile, bloodthirsty creatures that had slaughtered many of her ancestors. She’d been cautioned to stay away from their lands since she was a child, forbidden to venture from the coven for fear of an encounter with one of these evil beings. But they didn’t appear evil or threatening.

Her curiosity had grown once she heard of the gargoyle rock concerts, and she’d snuck over once to see what the talk was about. She’d never been to an actual concert before, only heard about them from other young witches with their fascination for human lifestyles. She’d never even left the island. The tree witches kept to themselves, a self-sufficient coven specializing in certain skills. The witches sang, played music, and danced at the gatherings around the fire, but nothing like what she’d experienced when the gargoyles transformed. After the first night, she was hooked. It was a risk to return but one she was willing to take. She’d ventured to that different world to hear the unique group, especially to watch the guitarist with hair as black as midnight.

For the past four nights, she’d left before the show ended, sneaking back to her coven under the dense cover of the trees. Tonight, foolish bravery coaxed her to stay to the end. If she wanted to watch a show, she damn well would. It wasn’t her coven’s business to know everything she did. She was a grown woman, twenty-one years of age, and shouldn’t be constrained by inexplicable feuds from years past she’d never quite grasped.

But, if they discovered her gone…

The final song began with a march-like beat of the drums. It increased in speed as the guitarists and bass player joined in, and the singer wailed. Brilliant bursts of flame rose from the torches. The gargoyles put down their instruments and nodded to the crowd. Their black feathered wings spread wide, making them appear twice as large as the males in the audience. With a few flaps, they levitated a few feet above the stage and then soared into the star-filled night sky. She watched them zoom higher, captivated as their enormous wings gave them the appearance of dark angels watching over those on the earth below. The gargoyles shapes shrunk as they ascended, and soon even the tiny pinpricks were invisible. The unparalleled experience made her rebellion worthwhile.

The crowd dispersed and she crept back into the dark forest. It was much later tonight than the usual time she’d return home, and the darkness made navigating the root-filled terrain more difficult. Although it wasn’t prudent to draw attention to herself in an area inhabited by all kinds of wild creatures, she needed to see. Cupping her hands before her, she chanted a spell. A tiny orange light, no larger than the flame at the end of a match, flickered in her hands. She repeated ancient words, making the sphere grow to the size of an apple. The dim glow illuminated her way. After twenty feet or so, she noticed the dense thicket of trees and needed more light if she didn’t want to trip over a root or walk face first into a tree. She amped up the fiery glow with an incantation.

The sounds of the forest grew louder the deeper she ventured in. Crickets chirred, frogs croaked, and insects rubbed their wings. A breeze ruffled through the leaves, and running water from a brook flowed. Rather than soothe her as they did during the day, the sounds seemed more ominous by night, setting all her senses on alert.

Her coven lived in tree houses in Caledonia a Tuath, or Northern Caledonia, named for the ancient Scottish forests where her ancestors had originated. It lay two miles from the gargoyle’s territory, only taking about forty minutes to walk by daylight. Navigating through the woods by night might take twice as long. She clutched her locket several times as she walked, trying to cast away images she conjured of creatures that would find a witch an appetizing meal.

Nothing here will attack me. The gargoyles don’t appear evil. The wolf shifters stay in their territory. I will be fine.

Despite her attempts to reassure herself, rustling in the trees above startled her and she held back a squeal. Movement on her right was followed by a thump. She yelped, dropping the light. Sprinting in the opposite direction, she envisioned a monstrous predator. Before she made any headway, a dark figure flew overhead and landed in her path.

CHAPTER TWO

“Why are you walking through the woods alone?”

The voice of a male started Kayla and she dropped the ball of light. It had rolled several feet away, but still emitted enough glow for her to discern a bare-chested figure wearing a blue kilt, the dark-haired gargoyle guitarist. He loomed over her, well over six feet tall, and the wingspan gave him an even more imposing appearance. Her eyes fixed on the contoured muscles that rippled beneath his torso. Every part of him was sinewy and smooth as polished marble, biceps as sculpted as the carved rock formations at the coast, and legs as thick and sturdy as the mighty oaks.

When she found words, she said, “You scared me half to death.” She clutched her hand to her chest, and her heart pounded against it. At first, she attributed it to fright, but as she scanned his half-naked torso a few feet from her, she attributed it to a different reason.

“You’re tempting danger to come your way.” The words were a low rasp, the brogue rolling through her as delicious and comforting as a hot toddy on a cold winter’s night.  “Beasts would gladly feast on your flesh.” He stepped closer, peering at her.

“Beasts?” she repeated. She stepped back and searched the woods. The biggest animal that lived in there were the red deer and they were harmless. The only threats to her kind on the island were the wolf shifters and the species before her now, the gargoyles.

He cocked his head, examining her. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

He ran a finger over her shoulder and down her arm, the unexpected movement leaving her breathless.

“Come with me.”

The sultry voice called to her, and she fought to make sense of it through her trepidation. “Protect me from what?”

“The wolves. Can’t you hear them in the distance?”

“They’ll stay in their territory.” Her shaky voice betrayed her attempt to convince herself as well as him.

He stood straighter, studying her. “What are you doing out here alone?”

She raised her chin. “I’m going home.”

He blinked at her several times before responding. “Home? On the Isle of Stone?” His voice rose an octave with obvious surprise. He strode over to the ball of light and picked it up, examining it with curiosity. It had dimmed without her energy fueling it, but still cast a warm glow. He tossed it to her.

She bit her lip. After he heard her answer, he might flee from her, leaving her to her fate. Why had she stayed out so late tonight, inviting danger? “The other side of the moors.”

He tilted his head, watching her through piercing blue eyes. “The Forests of Northern Caledonia are on the other side of the moors.”

“Yes.”

His eyes widened, staring at her without blinking. “Does that mean you’re a—tree witch?”

She nodded, averting his inquisitive gaze. Her heart pounded. Now that he knew who she was, would he give in to the blood thirst she’d been warned about? She scanned the ground for a rock or stick to use to defend herself. Nothing was within reach.

“A native, not a visitor,” he spoke under his breath.

She raised her chin and met his eyes. “Aye, I live on the island.”

“I’ve never met a tree witch before.” His voice held a twinge of awe. He stepped closer and sniffed the air around her. “Your scent is different from the humans.”

A tingling running through her body overrode her anxiety. “Like what?”

“The wilderness—and wildflowers.”

Energy sparkled in the space between their bodies; they stood closer than they’d ever been. Having the guitarist she’d admired on the stage so near affected her so she was unable to think straight. Even if he was a gargoyle.

His brows furrowed, a line separated them. “Why would you breach into our territory?” he demanded. “You know the delineation that separates our land.”

Her breathing came out more ragged. “I—uh—wanted to hear you play. I was curious,” she continued in an effort to explain her risky actions to herself as well as to him. “All sorts of rumors have spread throughout the coven about the gargoyle musicians playing human rock and roll.”

“The witches have heard about our concerts?”

“Yes.” Shuffling her feet, she added, “I wanted to hear it for myself. I’ve had so many questions about it. How did you learn to play it? We’re so secluded here on the island.”

He watched her with a steady gaze before replying. “My brothers and I fly at night. Visit nearby cities. Edinburgh, London, Dublin. We blend in as humans and slip into their clubs undetected. Having been to many shows, we got instruments several years ago and learned to play.”

“You travel from the island,” she said with wonderment.

He ran his hands over his chin. “You’ve been to see us more than once. Risking it. I’ve seen you.” He leaned so close her eyes fluttered involuntarily. “I’ve watched you.”

“Yes. I’ve come a few times,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“I like it.” she replied. “I enjoy listening to your music.” She stood straighter and declared, “One day I’ll visit other lands. Will you tell me about them?”

He appraised her, fixing his gaze on her face and then raking it down her body. Although covered in a belted leather tunic, she tingled all over, feeling naked and vulnerable.

“You know that’s forbidden,” he said with a steady gaze. “Our kinds are not supposed to cross into each other’s land, let alone interact.”

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” She peered up with wide eyes she hoped would appeal to a sympathetic part of him.

He uttered a tsking sound. “You’re a fool. You could get yourself killed if you keep this up.”

He didn’t say he’d reveal her transgression, but didn’t say he’d hide it either. Something in his tone made her relax. She swallowed the lump in her throat and licked her parched lips. “What are you doing in the forest?”

“What I must do.” He nodded his head and peered through still wise eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t let a woman walk alone unprotected through the woods.”

“You’re going to—escort me?” She pointed at her chest.

“Yes.”

Her head throbbed with confusion. The creature who she’d been warned about her entire life did not exhibit a flicker of animosity or bloodthirsty rage. In fact, he was trying to protect her.

Or was it a ruse to get her to trust him? She considered her options. If she ran from him, he could reach her in seconds.

Her heart thumped louder. “From what?” She glanced to the northern direction of the island and furrowed her brows. “The wolf shifters?”

“I didn’t mean that earlier. I was trying to scare you.”

“Why?”

“I’d planned on seducing you.” He stared at her without blinking. “Before I knew you were a tree witch.”

Her imagination soared with the idea of the seduction, only to crash down.

“But something isn’t right,” he added. “We can hear the anguish in the wolves’ howling.”

She pictured the wolves she’d only seen a handful of times in her lifetime. Beautiful creatures with fur ranging from pure white, silvery-gray, to midnight black. In human form, they were as captivating. Intelligent, wide eyes and thick lustrous hair. They lived secluded to the northern part of the island. Yet they were still wolves and had sharp canine teeth with the power to tear flesh. She’d seen the remains of rabbit and deer they had caught and shuddered to think of the damage they could inflict on her skin.

She swallowed. “Do you think they’ll attack?”

“No blood has been spilled since the clans divided the lands twenty-five years ago. But something isn’t right. We can sense it.”

“Sense what?”

He didn’t answer. “Follow me.”

The gargoyle brought his wings in closer to his body as he walked a path through the trees, allowing her a moment to study him from behind. The wings retracted, sinking into a point in his back until they were no longer visible, revealing bronzed shoulders, sculpted shoulder blades, and a tapered waist. She glanced down to fixate on his buttocks. The pleasing curve under his kilt made her wonder if they were as finely carved as the rest of him. Her line of vision descended, lingering on the protruding muscles in his calves.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Mason.”

“Kayla.”

The wolves howled in the distance, and she lurched forward, clinging to one of his biceps. When he chuckled, she turned to face him. His teeth were even and white, not menacing.

“It’s all right,” he soothed her, running a hand over her hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Come here.” He opened his roped, muscular arms, welcoming her in. “The wolves are far off in the distance. Nowhere close. And remember—they haven’t attacked anyone for decades.”

Kayla sank against his chest, grateful for his protection and unable to resist the allure of his embrace. His scent filled her nose, intoxicating her with a mix of the outdoors, the remnant of perspiration from the concert, and heady masculinity. His wild musky aroma sent shivers of awareness through her. Her check brushed against his hard chest. A man of stone.

“We need to move.”

She moved away from his warm chest with reluctance. Not only had she trespassed into the gargoyles’ land, but she was wrapped in one’s embrace. Unthinkable. Forbidden. If the elder witches knew, if her mother saw… Yet being in his arms provided a protective warmth that chased her fears away.

“You’re going to escort me?”

When his gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there, she parted them instinctively. He raised a hand, but then dropped it.

“I want to make sure you get back safely.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Why? Are you still trying to seduce me?”

He scanned her body in a way that made her burn from the inside out, but didn’t answer. “It’s our way.” He took a few steps and motioned to her. “Come.”

She hesitated. Was she crazy to walk through the woods with a gargoyle who could attack her at any time? Yet he didn’t project any signs of ill will. Considering she’d just buried her face into his chest for safety, she didn’t understand her conflicting thoughts and actions.

Whether she walked with him or not, he could attack. Having him close made her forget her earlier anxiety picturing vicious creatures in the woods.

She would walk with him, but stay wary. “Fine.”

They traversed the dense thicket without a word. The occasional howl of wolves pierced through the more ambient sounds of the night forest, insects and the gentle whir of the breeze ruffling through leaves. The howls seemed more distant. She worried less about them while her curiosity grew about the creature walking beside her. He’d traveled to distant lands, flown there under cover of night with his beautiful wings. Not even the most powerful witches in her coven could fly that distance. He could shift from one form to another. The more she snuck glances at his strong, defined profile or to watch the sway of his kilt, the more her fascination grew.

Why was she so affected by him, so aware of his presence beside her? The breeze in the night air barely cooled her flushed skin. What would his chiseled lips feel like touching hers? Moisture increased between her thighs, and she hoped he did not scent her growing desire. When she peeked at him, the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk and then vanished.

His gaze raked over her body before returning before him. “What’s it like over on your side of the island?”

Was he genuinely curious or pumping her for information? “Same as yours, I gather.”

“No, not the same. Your houses are in the trees, no?”

“Aye,” she said. “That’s one of the differences.”

“I’ve always wondered about it. Since I was a young boy, I’d wanted to see the magical land in the trees. But was warned of the evil of tree witches.” He grinned. “They told me not to ever step foot over there. Said the witches would boil me in a cauldron and eat me.”

Kayla laughed. “We heard some frightful warnings about the bloodthirsty gargoyles, too.” She peered at him. “So did the warnings work?”

“No.”

“You came over?”

“I tried. Couldn’t get through the magical barrier.”

“Ah.” Tension left her shoulders. Something about the candid way he spoke to her helped her relax.

“Did you listen?” He tilted his head.

“I followed the rules forbidding us to cross into the other territories my whole life, despite my curiosity.” She smiled. "Until I heard about the concerts. I figured if the humans were coming to these shows and they weren’t being slaughtered, there had to be something to see.”

“And we didn’t kill any of you.” A teasing glint in his eye joined an infectious grin.

“Who would have thought?”

She raised her eyebrow in mock seriousness before breaking out with a laugh and he joined in.

When they reached the moors, the fragrance of the grass and wildflowers greeted her. They crossed broad sections of heather, searching through the darkness with her ball of light. When they reached a copse near the border of the witches’ territory, he stopped.

“I’ll keep watch from here. Better not to cross into your lands.”

The treetop houses of her coven were visible through breaks in the lush green leaves on the other side of the rolling fields.

She turned to Mason. His mouth had pulled into a taut line. His features were unreadable, except for one—his eyes. When he peered down at her, the dark hunger within them was clear. He took a wide stance, fists clenching and unclenching. What had happened?

“Thank you for making sure I made it home safe,” Kayla said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

Sparks ran through her when her lips met his smooth skin.

“You’re welcome,” he said through a strangled voice then straightened his posture. “I will not reveal your visit to our lands.” A low groan escaped him.

“Are you okay?” She searched his eyes.

“You should go,” he said. “Before I do something you might regret.” His voice came out low and ragged, ending with a hint of longing as his eyes traveled over her.

A fiery path erupted on her flesh. She became keenly aware of all her exposed skin; the tunic left much of her arms and legs bare. She peered at his face, trying to discover the meaning behind his unreadable expression.

“Like what?” She took a step closer, her eyes fixed on his captivating lips.

Heat radiated from him, penetrating her like the sun warming her on hot midsummer days. It coiled inside her, low in her belly, and sank lower. She recognized it, the magic between lovers. Intoxicating and intense. An all-consuming attraction. The air between them shimmered with energy, an irresistible force connecting them.

His lips parted, but he turned away, hands clenched as he struggled with something.

“Like what,” she repeated, running her index finger over the smooth, bulging muscle in his bicep.

Mason turned to her and searched her face. The conflict in his eyes was replaced by dark desire. Every chirp and rustle of leaves seemed to magnify in volume. He took her chin in his hand and gently guided her head back. She swallowed, pulse racing as his face inched closer. His wild male scent reached her again, eliciting a primal response. Anticipation pounded through her as steadily as a ritualistic drum as the seconds ticked on.

“Like this,” he growled.

His lips brushed hers, soft, yet searing her with such vitality. She faltered, the sensation overpowering her with raw need, but he caught her and held her in his strong embrace. His tongue touched her bottom lip, tracing the contours. She opened her mouth, inviting him in, and energy jolted through her. His tongue darted in, tasting her, before pulling away. She followed suit, teasing him, waltzing with him in this sensual dance.

He pulled her into a tight embrace and claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, crushing her breasts against him. The scents and sounds of the forest vanished as she lost herself in his arms. She’d never experienced a kiss like this, one that rocked her to her core.

He kissed over her cheek, down her jaw, and neck, and released a low, animalistic growl that sent ripples of desire through her, knowing she was the cause. Her nipples tingled against the taut muscles of his chest. She ran her hands over his defined shoulder blades, down his smooth skin to his lower back. Every part of him was hard as stone and contoured with muscle, but alive. Thrillingly alive.

“I like this,” she said, touching the nape of his neck and through his dark hair. She kissed his neck, nibbling and biting him, and he moaned again.

“You tempt me so.” He gripped the back of her head, and returned to her mouth, plunging in, and she opened wider for him.

Their kiss grew hungrier and more intense. Now that she’d had a taste, she couldn’t pull away. His erection pressed against her, sending a new wave of desire straight to her core. A small voice inside scolded, but the forbidden aspect made him all the more impossible to resist. If it was so wrong, why did it feel so good to be wrapped in his arms, feasting on him? If he was so evil, why had he made sure she was safe?

They explored each other’s bodies, grabbing each other, while they kissed with a frantic demand that threatened to suffocate them. She finally pulled away with reluctance as they panted, gulping for air.

The hungry glint disappeared from his expression and the conflict retuned. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry I did that. I don’t know what came over me.” His voice came out with a tortured gasp. “You must go.”

Kayla searched his expression. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“You know this is wrong.” He dropped his face into his hands and turned away. “It is forbidden.”

She exhaled. Yes, she knew their clans had clashed. What she didn’t understand was why. She searched across the moors, looking into the thicket of the trees for answers. A sharpness pierced her. Her fantasies had begun to come true only to come to a sudden halt. “You’re right. I should go.” She turned and walked in the direction of her house on the other side of the meadow, her eyes fixed on the moss-covered rocks among the green and purple growth ahead.

“Wait,” he called. Mason’s expression softened as he caught up with her. Stepping closer, he stroked her cheek. “I’m saying this for your own good.”

She pulled his hand away as confusion welled in her. “Then why are you calling me back?”

“Because I don’t want you to go.” He clenched his fist and reopened it. “I shouldn’t be as attracted to you as I am. It would be seen as a betrayal.”

“Betrayal?” she repeated with mounting frustration. “I see.”

“With all the history between our ancestors,” he added.

She raised her hands and dropped them. A conflict from years before between people she didn’t even know forbidding her from doing what she wanted to do. “Fine. I understand. I’m leaving.”

“Kayla, please.”

“What?” She spun on one foot and exhaled. All the back and forth turmoil played on her emotions so she didn’t know what to think.

“I want to see you again.”

His rich velvety voice melted through some of her exasperation. “How? You know the rules. You just explained them.”

“Meet me here tomorrow at this time,” he insisted.

His invitation filled her with delight, but she knew it wouldn’t be easy to escape the coven, especially on the night of the summer solstice. One night earlier this week, she’d been thwarted by her mother and aunts who insisted she come to a bonfire gathering. “I will try,” she promised. “But it won’t be easy.”

He furrowed a brow. “No, it won’t. Not with the feud between our clans.” He took her hand and searched her eyes with an imploring look. “Please try.”

She planted a kiss on his still parted lips. “I’ll find a way.”

He exhaled and then smiled. “I’m sure you will. Witches are resourceful.” He held her hand and rubbed a circular design on her palm before releasing it. “Until tomorrow.”

She ran the remaining distance across the moors, the neutral land between that of the witches, wolves, and gargoyles. When she glanced back, Mason was no longer at the edge of the copse. Perched in the branches of a tree above, he watched over her. Warmth encased her heart knowing he made sure she made it home safely.

She didn’t know if or how she would be able to return tomorrow. Or if she could sneak home undetected tonight. She blew him a kiss before she continued her journey through the oaks and Scots pine to return to her house in the trees.

CHAPTER THREE

Hidden in the cloak of the trees, Mason watched until Kayla was safe, deep into the realm of the Caledonia coven. As a gargoyle, he was forbidden to cross over into the witches’ territory, part of a treaty signed by the elders when he was twelve. The forbidden aspect of visiting the enchanted land had increased the allure. He had flown over their territory many nights, seeking a glimpse through the foliage. Through gaps, a number of houses were visible, built into the branches of majestic trees. Canopies of silver fir, spruce, beech, and Scots pine created a lush green cover in the forests of Northern Caledonia. Ferns framed the entry into their world, accented by rhododendron, azalea, and roses that poked through the greenery with bright colors. Rugged red cliffs descended to moss-covered rocks that welcomed the cool waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Often a fine mist covered their land, adding to its mystical atmosphere. Its beauty surpassed that of many places he’d visited, he suspected its lush growth was enhanced by magic.

He gazed at their land, the only part of the island still cloaked with enough magic to keep trespassers away. The tree witches had cast so many spells that he doubted any humans could ever find it.

Mason brought his wings in to bolt into the sky before unfurling them to survey the island from above, the way he and his brothers did each night. Sometimes they flew to distant lands to explore other places, especially their ancestral home in the Scottish Highlands, but they always scanned the Isle of Stone for danger before leaving its borders. Mason spotted a trail of discarded trash leading from the gargoyle amphitheater to the ferry. One of the problems with the humans was their lack of respect for the earth.

Putting on the nightly shows for humans was a tricky venture. Mason and his brothers found an audience who enjoyed their music and they enjoyed the attention of the human females. They’d also welcomed the solar-powered technology they acquired from humans on other islands. During the rough transition years of adolescence, they’d discovered rock music. The elders had disapproved of their fixation on human music, yet another difference between the old and new ways. When the brothers created the Knights of Stone and played in cities in Europe, the elders made their objections loud and clear. No point in living stuck in the old ways. The world had changed over the centuries. Gargoyles lived in cities, taking posts on buildings, or clung to the old ways living in the ancient forests like that of his clan.

Mason saw movement in the skies above the Atlantic. Based on their distinctive shape and flight patterns, he deduced it was his brothers flying from the island. He grinned—probably in search of female attention, as usual.

When he caught up with them, his youngest brother Calum, the energetic front man for their band, said, “We wondered where you’d gone.”

“Just exploring,” Mason lied. “Where are you headed?”

“We thought we’d go searching for some fine lasses on the mainland tonight,” Gavin said.

Although all his gargoyle brothers thrived on chasing females, to Gavin, it was more than mere sport or entertainment. He lived and breathed thinking about females, whether in flesh or stone.

The five of them remained still in stone for hours usually during the day. Gargoyles didn’t sleep the way humans and animals did, cut off from the world. Their rest period was more meditative in their stone forms so they could observe signs of unrest. Once the blood resumed flowing through a gargoyle’s veins, the drive to mate became unable to ignore. The blood animated their bodies, a surge of energy that gave them achingly-hard erections. They had enjoyed many lovely human lassies willing to try to sate their lust, yet none had settled with one female. Even his oldest brothers, Lachlan and Bryce, who were in their mid-thirties, remained unhitched. This worried the elders since reproduction was a sensitive topic. The tree witches had cursed the gargoyles twenty-five years ago, making them unable to bear young. Since the curse had been lifted, the gargoyle clan sought to continue the line with the birth of many young gargoyles. The elders pressured Mason and his brothers, who were not ready to settle down. When the clan returned to the Scottish Highlands, they found more freedom to carry on their lifestyle.

The tree witches were behind that curse on the gargoyles. And yet he’d spent time with a lovely tree witch tonight, one who had hair as dark as the midnight skies and eyes as blue as the lochs. Would a tree witch be able to bear a child with a gargoyle? If so, the offspring of such a pairing would likely have immense power and capabilities.

He shook his head. What was wrong with him to think this way? He snapped out of his introspection to get back to the present.

“Not enough female attention for you at the show tonight?” Mason teased.

“Plenty of fine ones ready and willing,” Gavin said. “But I’m itching for a chase off the isle.”

“Let’s go.”

Mason joined them to distract himself, but it didn’t help. Kayla’s presence at their shows had left him unnerved. The way she stared at him was intoxicating, threatening to make him hard. Her being a tree witch complicated the issue. He should have walked away when he’d found out.

Then why did he escort her? Kiss her? Invite her to return tomorrow?

A dull ache throbbed in his head. He blinked his eyes to find some relief and clear the confusion.

When he’d glanced in her wide eyes, the color of the bright blue lochs in the early morn, he saw no malice. She appeared kind. Caring. He sensed it in her, piercing holes in what he’d been told of the evil coven. Were they evil, responsible for the near extinction of the gargoyles?

Or was there more to the story?

After they’d flown miles over the Atlantic, he gave up the hunt to search for other lasses. “I’m heading back to the isle,” he said.

“What’s gotten into you?” Gavin asked.

“Nothing,” Mason lied. “Just not in the mood. Going to stay close to home tonight.” Close to Kayla.

Mason flew off and returned to the isle. He flew near the coastline of the witches’ territory and wondered if Kayla slept safe.

Before sunrise, he and his brothers had resumed their stone forms at the amphitheater. Mason attempted to enter a restful state, but he couldn’t get the image of Kayla out of his mind. What was it about this wee tree witch that had him so wound up? Whenever he thought of her, a beast rose within him, wanting to touch every part of her.

What had she done to him? No woman had ever had such a grip on his thoughts.

Ah, she was a witch, after all. She must have bewitched him with some sort of potion. He didn’t drink anything when he was with her, witches were crafty. She could find another way to bend his will. Although he wanted to attribute his obsessive thoughts to a spell, a small voice inside told him it wasn’t true.

“You’re been acting strange all night,” Calum communicated from his stone repose.

“Some lass on your mind?”

Was his distraction that obvious? Mason couldn’t admit the truth, that a tree witch had captivated him.

“Has she found a way into your stone heart or cock?” Gavin added, and his four brothers chuckled.

“Ha ha,” Mason replied. He had to regain control on his emotions.

* * * * *

Kayla spent much of the night staring at the thatched roof. Her room was a tiny octagonal shape, higher in the branches of a Scots pine tree while her mother slept in a room in an adjacent tree below. Their rooms in their tree house were connected by rope bridges to a shared living area with her mother’s two sisters, Muriel and Emma.

Kayla had never known her father, a witch from the Americas, who’d spent a summer on the Isle of Stone. He’d met her mother in Inverness one summer and she brought him to the island. He’d left that fall before knowing she had been conceived, and her mother claimed she knew no way to contact him. She’d brushed it off, saying if he wanted to stay in touch, he knew where she was, but Kayla saw the hurt behind her dismissal.

What Kayla didn’t know of him, she created in her mind. An image of a powerful witch with dark hair and blue eyes, eyes so striking her mother had found him irresistible and had fallen for him hard, against her better judgment. Kayla had inherited her blue eyes from her father, and she wondered if the resemblance brought her mother pain.

Another man now preoccupied her thoughts. One with long dark hair and eyes as green as the mosses on the shore. His chiseled lips had grazed hers with softness before he’d claimed her with hungry possession. When she pictured how he’d watched her with a mix of desire and fascination, something lit deep inside her. She ran her fingers over her lips, remembering how he’d taken her in his embrace, fastening his mouth on hers. His kiss had ignited something inside her, one encounter would never be enough. Longing spread through her body. Her nipples tingled with sensitivity, aching to be touched. Touched by his firm hands, caressed, and kissed.

She ran her hands from her lips down to her breasts, imagining it was Mason touching her. The way he’d looked at her with such wonder made her feel unique. It was foolish to think that way, but when he’d escorted her, she felt special, different. She moved her fingers down her belly and in between her thighs, easily slipping a digit inside. What would it feel like with Mason’s body on top of her, sliding deep inside? Penetrating her with his magnificent, hard body while he fixed his hungry eyes on hers?

She fantasized about being back in the forest and continuing with their kiss. The passion would heighten as their hands roved over each other’s bodies. In a frenzy to touch, he’d tear off her clothes, and she’d strip off his kilt. He’d lay her gently on the soft groundcover and take her under the cover of the trees.

She circled her swollen clit, and her need for more intensity rose higher. Her breathing escalated and then hitched as she applied more pressure. When she crested and crashed over the edge, she arched her back as waves of pleasure flowed through her.

Her breathing and heartbeat slowed, and she thought about seeing him again tomorrow night. With all hands attending for the summer solstice, she wasn’t sure how she’d sneak away. But, she’d damn well try.

When she woke, Kayla spent the morning outdoors, weeding and gathering cuttings from the herb section. Her gifts lay in horticulture and potions so she spent many hours tending to the garden, using magic to help it flourish. She picked a handful of basil, mint, rosemary, and other herbs before climbing over the stone border of the garden.

Stone. She touched the cool gray matter. Was it the same as that of the gargoyles? It couldn’t be, could it? Mason’s smooth skin was warm to the touch, not cool like this rock. Their stone had to be malleable somehow, turning to flesh. Or was it magic?

After delivering herbs to her mother, one of the best chefs in the coven, she followed her mother’s instructions on what to cut or steep.

“You disappeared from the gathering last night.”

Her mother’s tone shot Kayla into a defensive mode.

“We’d done the fertility rituals many times. I didn’t think I needed to stay.”

“We also finalized plans for the solstice tonight. Where did you go?”

Kayla feigned greater interest in the basil she was cutting. “Nowhere really. Just walking.” Her cheeks warmed with guilt.

“Be there tonight. This is one of our most important gatherings. If there are decisions to be made, you should be a part of the vote.”

“I don’t have a say,” Kayla protested. “The elders make all decisions. A young witch like me has little voice in any matters.”

“But still a voice nonetheless,” her mother said. “This is your coven. You are becoming a powerful witch, so you should take on a greater role in its future.”

* * * * *

Kayla gritted her teeth all afternoon. How would she escape tonight? Families were sharing in a potluck feast, and the celebration would last all night. She usually looked forward to the event with all the delicious foods and elderberry wine, but this time she was distracted.

She helped her mother prepare a casserole with fresh caught fish and garden vegetables, and they brought it to the feast. Witches had covered the oak banquet table with trays of stuffed tomatoes and zucchini, shellfish, and more. The table itself was carved by one of the male witches who was renowned for his carpentry skills.

Kayla’s foot tapped impatiently throughout the dinner feast, and she ate with far less gusto than usual. Even her wine goblet remained full. When her mother called her to the fire, she suppressed a sigh.

The circle was cast, and the altar was set. The elders led them through a ritual to burn away negativity, using bundles of herbs Kayla had grown. Then they presented the importance of the solstice to the young witches. Whey they asked if anyone had questions, Kayla piped up.

“I’ve grown up hearing I must stay away from the other parts of the island, but I’ve never fully understood why.

Matilda, an ancient witch with hair more white than gray, said, “I don’t see how this has anything to do with the solstice.” She straightened her cross-legged position at the fire. “Stay away from them.”

“But why?” Kayla prodded.

The old witch appraised her through her hooded eyes. “They attacked us many years ago. Accused us of doing things we didn’t do.”

“What did they say we’d done?”

“Gargoyles are bloodthirsty creatures. They’d find a reason to seek vengeance in even the most unjust of accusations. And the wolf shifters will find any excuse to shed blood.”

Kayla furrowed her brow. She’d seen the gargoyles play at night and didn’t see signs of this bloodlust. “Can’t we find a way to come together? Whatever happened in the past is long done.”

“We lost many promising witches.” She turned from Kayla. “Let’s return to the ritual.”

Although Kayla didn’t learn much, at least she’d made her presence known. Her mother knew she was here. The ceremony ended with witches beating drums and singing, some began dancing in a circle around the fire. Kayla glanced at her mother and saw her distracted by a conversation. Kayla moved to the edge of the circle. Night gave her cover, but the fire cast a glow lighting those closest to the flames. The further she moved into the shadows, the easier it would be to escape.

She seized an opportunity to blend in and sneak out under cover of darkness. It was earlier than they’d planned to meet so she’d head to the gargoyle’s territory and catch their show. Running through the woods, she had to lean forward, panting, when she finally reached the moors. She slowed her pace as she padded through tall grasses that tickled her shins. Excitement brewed within her as she approached their land. She quickened her step as anticipation bubbled as potent as a potion in a boiling cauldron.

An uncomfortable sensation prickled the back of her neck, and she froze. Something was watching her. She spun around searching through the heather and taller grasses. She’d never experienced fear in this peaceful expanse, but anxiety pervaded her as it did on nights in the forests, when the dark realms encouraged her deepest fears to take shape.

Past the vertical obelisks left by her ancestors, she spotted a silver-gray wolf watching her. It was outside the border of the wolves’ territory with its hilly terrain. What was it doing there? The wolves kept to themselves in their land. Ice froze her veins. Was it searching for prey? Would it come her way, bounding through the woods to attack? Or was the wolf curious and hesitant, same as she?

Mason’s words about the wolves returned to her. She shot a quick glance to the sky and saw the moon was half-full. This gave her some comfort, the moon at its fullest could affect all creatures, especially ones sensitive to lunar cycles like the wolves. She watched the wolf with wariness and continued through the moors with quickened steps.

Once in the gargoyle’s land, she exhaled with relief. Excitement bubbled through her as she approached the amphitheater, knowing she’d see Mason soon. She quickened her pace.

She heard the audience before she saw them, a low murmur of discussions that hummed her way. A large crowd had gathered tonight. Each night it appeared to grow bigger than the previous one. As word of the gargoyle rock show spread, so did the size of the crowd.

The five statues loomed above the crowd, still and timeless. The last light of the setting sun cast an eerie glow around them. When she fixed her gaze on Mason’s stone form, her heart thumped. She scanned every inch of his silhouette, wondering about the spark of life within the stone that would animate him into flesh. A warm-blooded male with a heated touch and sensuous lips that made her melt.

Minutes pounded as she waited for the transition. At last, the fiery glow of sunset left the sky. Kayla held her breath, waiting for the change. A spike of dread drove through her. What if one night the spark of life wouldn’t light? If the magic faded and he could no longer transform? He’d be forever locked in stone. She’d never feel his wondrous lips pressed against hers again, nor the warmth of his caress.

When his finger twitched, she exhaled with relief. The magical transformation began. His black feathered wings unfurled as he stood upright. When the stone eyes animated with light, they changed to the green color of the forest, smoldering with intensity as they searched the cheering crowd. They stopped on her and widened. The world around her faded into the background when their eyes locked. She wasn’t supposed to meet him until later in the neutral space. He waved his finger as if scolding her, but then his mouth twitched into a grin. Her insides fluttered madly in response. She beamed, smiling back. She’d made it.

During the show, she studied him on stage. The way he strummed the guitar, the movement of muscles in his arms and torso, the sway of the tartan fabric with his movements. Her cheeks heated when she thought about running her fingers over his torso and under his kilt. Oh, the things he could do to her with that body. They exchanged glances throughout the set. After the last song, Mason winked at her before bolting into the blackened sky.

She left the amphitheater, her thoughts consumed with Mason. Did he sleep there while perched on stage in statue form or as humans did? She pictured him asleep, eyes closed and chest rising and falling, filling her with contentment. This image conflicted with what the tree witches warned her about with the gargoyles and she once again questioned the conflict between the clans.

She reached the edge of the forest and ventured in to the point where they’d met last night.

“You came,” a low voice spoke from the darkness. “All the way to our show.”

Her eyes widened as she witnessed him emerge from the shadows.

“I did.”

He scanned her from head to toe before taking two steps toward her. “That was risky. But I’m glad you did. I worried you’d change your mind.”

Her cheeks flushed under his burning gaze. He was so close she sensed the air around him pulsating with energy. “Why would I change my mind?”

Stroking her cheek, he replied, “Coming to your senses, perhaps. Listening to the admonitions of your clan on staying away from gargoyles.”

His fingers left a fiery trail on her skin. She struggled to find her voice. “They’ve warned me about you. Said gargoyles are filled with bloodlust.”

Mason dropped his hand. “That’s not true.” He took a step back. “You don’t believe that about me, do you?”

When she searched his eyes, she found them filled with earnest. “No. I don’t. I haven’t seen anything to indicate that.”

“Because that is not our way,” he said. “It is in our nature to protect, not destroy. Why do you think I escorted you last night? It wasn’t to harm you.” He shook his head. “Never.” He took her hand in his. “Come, let’s walk.”

They passed through lush green ferns among the trees. “I’ve been forbidden from crossing over to the gargoyle land since I was a child,” Kayla revealed. “They said you were not to be trusted, that you attacked our coven, but I never understood why.”

Mason’s expression turned grim. “The story I’ve heard from my clan is this. Our numbers dwindled over the past decades. The elders were dying out and women weren’t having new young.” He rubbed his chin before continuing. “They blamed the tree witches, thinking only they were powerful enough to conjure such magic.”

Kayla’s mouth dropped. “That’s black magic. That’s not the way we work.” She put her hand on her hips and stared at him with both defiance and disbelief. “Why would we do such a thing?”

“I didn’t say it,” Mason said in a reassuring tone. “I’m telling you the stories I’ve heard.”

“And did they say why the evil tree witches would curse them this way?”

“Aye. So the coven could take control of the entire island.”

“What?” Her voice came out louder than she’d intended.

“Once all the gargoyles were gone, they could spread across the land. With us out of the way, it would be easier for them to take on the wolves.”

“Wait a minute.” She blinked while forming coherent thoughts. “You’re saying this quarrel between our clans is a dispute over land?” She threw her hands out in despair. “There’s plenty of space here for all of us to live—and spread out!”

“No, not just land,” Mason added. “Revenge. Many gargoyles were killed. They believed the witches were trying to destroy our entire race.”

She didn’t know what to say. If what he said was true, her ancestors attempted genocide on an entire race of the island in greed for more land. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

Could it?

Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts, the accusations tearing her apart.

“What is it?” Mason said. “I see I’ve upset you.”

“I need to go.” She turned and fled into the woods.

He caught up with her. “No, stop.” He commanded, but in a softer voice added, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I—it’s just—um…” she didn’t know how to finish her thoughts. Throwing her hands up in frustration, she said, “Do you believe it’s true? Do you think I’m so heartless and greedy I could murder your kind for land?”

“I didn’t say you,” Mason said through a tightened jaw.

“But you said all these terrible things about the witches. I am one.”

He gazed at her with conflicting emotions flashing from his eyes. “I know. That’s what makes it so difficult.”

“Difficult for what?” she said, exasperated.

He took a step closer and cupped her cheek. “To walk away.” He tilted her head back and searched her eyes. “Because inside, I know you aren’t capable of such evil.” His eyes dropped to her lips.

Frustration was replaced by raw need. The space between them again shimmered with a surge of energy she couldn’t quite place. But whatever it was between them was magnetic, powerful, and difficult to ignore. She’d never experienced a connection like this, one that gripped her soul with its intensity.

“I do wonder about the power of a witch,” he said. “Because of the effect you’ve had on me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m consumed with thoughts of you. Have you bewitched me?”

“Bewitched you?” She repeated. “As in given you a potion or cast a spell to make you fall in love with me?”

He nodded. “Aye. That’s exactly what I’m wondering.”

“No, Mason.” She put her hands on her hips. “Why would you accuse me that way?”

“It’s not an accusation. Just a question.”

“I have no need of bewitching anyone to care for me,” she turned away so he couldn’t see her eyes blazing with tears of anger. “That’s cheating,” she spewed through gritted teeth. “And I’m not a cheat.”

“No offense was intended.” He stroked her shoulder and down her shoulder blade.

She didn’t reply, still bothered by his words, but his touch left her breathing ragged.

“These feelings are not ones I’m familiar with,” he added in a milder tone. “I couldn’t help but wonder where they came from.”

His fingers traveling over her skin confused her emotions, calming the rage within and stoking her desire.

“Well, I have no control over what you feel,” she declared. “It’s all you.”

He whispered, “I hope it’s reciprocal.”

The warmth of his breath on her ear made her tremble. “Reciprocal?”

“Aye. Have you thought about me at all?”

Every waking moment. “I have.” The words lingered on her tongue.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. His lips curled into a smile.

“Have you thought of me doing this?” He pressed his lips to her neck. Her already heated flesh simmered under his touch.

“Uh huh,” she answered in a raspy tone.

“How about this?” He turned her to face him and moved his lips along her jawline, leaving a scorching path on her skin. When he reached her mouth, he hovered before her, his warm breath driving her insane with anticipation.

“Yes,” she said between rising pants.

His lips covered hers, devouring them with a savage possession. He grasped the back of her head as his tongue plunged in, demanding more. Fire roiled through her veins, making her surprised she could still stand. With his other hand at her lower back, he held her close, supporting her unsteady legs, eliminating the space between them. Her body burned at each spot that touched him, lips on lips, chest to breasts, and iron-hard steel to smooth satin.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he said. “We are forbidden.”

His actions defied his words as one of his hands covered her breast, molding it, making her nipple tingle with awareness. He reached under her shirt and found the sensitive skin, rubbing her nipples into achingly-hard peaks. She wanted more of him. More of his lips, his hands, his cock. Kayla wanted all of him. She ran her hands over the hard planes of his chest, the taut muscles of his biceps, around his tight rounded buttocks.

“I know. But it hasn’t stopped me from coming to you,” Kayla said through hitched breaths. “And you’re here with me.”

He growled with an animalistic sound, and pulled up her shirt. “Are you as conflicted as I?” When his mouth covered her nipple, she sighed, arching to grant him more access.

“Yes.” It came out almost a whimper. “But I want this.”

He alternated between teasing and flicking each nipple and sucking each breast with slow deliberate precision until she thought she’d melt.

A howl pierced the silent night, and they both froze. When several more howls followed, Mason stood.

She adjusted her blouse with frustration in her lust-filled haze. “Can you tell what their different howls mean?”

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t like it, though.”

“They sound urgent. Almost frantic.”

“I know.” He faced her. “You should go home.”

She exhaled, but didn’t argue. “All right.” She kissed him again before trekking back to the moors on heavy feet.

He accompanied her until they reached the copse then cupped her face. “Don’t come to the show tomorrow.”

“But—”

“I don’t want you walking alone with the wolves sounding that way. I’ll meet you here after the show.”

The bloody wolves were interfering with her nightly escapes. Not only would she miss the shows she loved to attend, she’d have to wait even longer to see Mason. “All right.”

He kissed her hand. “Be safe.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Kayla slept in, waking up to her mother rousing her in the tree house.

“You’re usually the first one up. But lately you’ve slept the latest. What’s going on?”

“I’ve had trouble sleeping,” she lied, rubbing her eyes.

“Have you brewed a potion to help?”

“No. Maybe I should.” Kayla scurried from her mother’s watchful eyes. “I’m going to get some herbs to make tea.”

The hours until evening dragged. She spent the afternoon in the gardens. Red and blue dragonflies skittered through the herbs as she pulled weeds. She went for a swim in the heat of midday to cool off and kill time.

Night finally arrived and she waited for Mason in the copse. When he strode over, her skin tingled with anticipation. He was coming to meet her.

They walked hand-in-hand across the moors before he put an arm out, stopping her. “Wolves.”

She turned north. A trio of gray and black wolves watched them, but remained still.

“I saw one here yesterday. On the way to see you.”

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the wolves. They scampered away. Her uneasiness dissipated as Mason rubbed her hand with his thumb, continuing their walk. They both snuck glances to where the wolves had been.

Several minutes later, Kayla stopped. “Wait, there’s a man coming.”

A bare-chested man who wore a red kilt approached. He had gray streaks in his black hair.

“I’m Ian.” He bent his head in greeting. “The alpha from the Caledonia wolves.”

Mason stepped in front of her in a protective manner. “Mason.” He nodded his head.

“A gargoyle and a tree witch. When did the barriers break down between your clans?”

“They haven’t,” Mason said.

“Yet you meet?” Ian’s eyes gauged them both.

“We see no reason to live in separate territories,” Kayla explained, stepping next to Mason. “I’m Kayla.”

Ian bowed slightly. “That’s why I’m here. The divisions are devastating to us all.”

“How so?” Mason asked.

“There’s been increasing problems with us not joining magic. Not only have we lost the cloak on the island, but it’s affecting us in drastic ways.”

“In what ways?” Kayla asked.

“We’re shifters and we can switch from man to wolf at will, but the pull of the moon affects us. The cloak helped us reduce the impact of the moon on us. And in the past, tree witches from your coven have given us potions to help us maintain self-control so we can continue living as we have. Since the division and the dissipation of the cloak, the moon’s effect on us has increased. The younger wolves are affected the most. Their self-control is being challenged, stretched to a point we fear may be too far.”

“What will happen if they lose control?” Kayla nervously fiddled with a protective amulet her mother had given her as her anxiety rose.

“They may attack others. A predatory drive takes over and they become more animal than human.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Mason asked. “You have no reason to trust us with your vulnerabilities.”

“Because we need your help. We’ve watched you two meet. Since you’ve both taken a step to breach the divisions, we decided to approach you.”

“What kind of help?”

“Convince your clans to come together. We need to join our magic to restore the cloak.” He turned to Kayla. “See if you can get your coven to make the potion so we can give it to our youngest and most vulnerable wolves.”

Kayla glanced at Mason and then nodded. “We’ll see what we can do.”

* * * * *

“What are we going to do about this?” Kayla asked once they were alone in the moors.

“It’s up to us to do something,” he said, his face stoic. “We’ve been presented with this issue and it’s up us to make it right.”

His expression hardened, jaw jutted out, reflected his steely resolve. She admired his bravery and sense of justice. How could he be the horrible creature the tree witches had described?

“Let’s get away. We need to be able to think.”

“Where will we go?” She searched the island. “Only so many places to hide on an island with divided territories.”

“Exactly what I mean. Let’s leave the isle.”

Her eyes widened. “Leave the island? I’ve spent my whole life here.”

“And when we first spoke, you were fascinated with the places I’d been. Let me take you to them.”

Her body hummed with the thrill, her brain with the uncertainty. “But where?” She rubbed her temple. “And how?”

“We’ll fly.”

“There’s only one problem. I can’t fly.”

“So you’re going to hold on tight.”

“Where will we go?”

He searched across the moors. “The Highlands. Where my clan originated. They’ve returned there after humans came to the island. Only I and my brothers remain.”

“The Highlands?” Her mouth dropped. “On the mainland.”

“It’s a beautiful land. One place I find peace. Strange, considering all the blood that’s been shed there over the centuries.”

“I imagine it comforts you knowing it’s where your ancestors lived.”

He nodded slowly. “Perhaps.” Extending an arm to her, he asked, “Will you come?”

As much as she fantasized about visiting other lands, she never thought she’d do so flying in a gargoyle’s arms. After a moment of trepidation, she took his arm and smiled. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never,” he promised.

He wrapped both arms around her and she squeezed around his waist. When her feet lifted off the ground, she gripped him more tightly.

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

Her entire body tensed as they shot several feet in the air. “It’s kind of scary,” she admitted. I’ve never flown before.”

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of flying. You enjoy the view.”

She closed her eyes and forced herself to breath more slowly. When she reopened them, terror welled at first when she glanced down. Then the aerial image of the island from above distracted her from her fear.

The Isle of Stone appeared so different from this vantage point at night. A land of moors surrounded by trees. No signs of boundaries marking the territories. It was the way it should be, open and free. She searched for the tree houses, but they were eclipsed by the tops of the trees. Light flickered through the foliage, which had to be the fire at the coven’s gathering.

If they had any idea of what she was doing right now—if her mother knew…

She pushed the thoughts out of her mind as she enjoyed the flight. The breeze in her hair, the sense of floating among the clouds—there was no other experience to rival it. The lack of fear even though they soared above the earth surprised her. Mason wrapped her in a protective embrace. With each flap of his majestic wings, a whooshing sound whizzed by her ears. His ability to fly was remarkable. What a different world it was from above.

She spent the rest of the flight marveling at the sights. The Highlands appeared below. Even through the darkness, she discerned the majestic peaks sloping to vast valleys. Lochs shimmered under the moonlight. They soared past the dark shapes of animals, grazing in the fields.

“What are they?” she asked.

“Sheep,” Mason replied. “I once heard someone describe them as floating like clouds across the hills.”

His voice was like warm, rich caramel. “Poetic.”

They landed on a patch of tall grasses with scarcely a thump. She circled to capture the magnificent silhouettes of the peaks around her.

“It’s breathtaking,” she said.

He stepped beside her and turned her way. “Aye, it’s even more beautiful by day.”

She furrowed her brows. “I thought you slept by day.”

“In a way,” he replied. “We typically rest in stone by day, but it’s not the way most species sleep.”

“So you’re not strictly nocturnal?”

He paused for a moment. “No. It’s difficult to describe, but I’ll try. When we’re in stone, we are not shut off from the outside world, which would make it more impossible to observe for danger. My brothers and I can still communicate. The sun shines on us, restoring our energy, but we’re not locked in stone, like as in a spell. We’re able to change to human form at will.”

The idea of sleeping while awake fascinated her as much as his ability to fly and shapeshift. “That’s amazing. I’m not even sure I fully can grasp how you do it.” She pictured the first time she’d seen him shift at the concert. “But on stage you seem to come alive from the light of the moon.”

He winked at her and grinned. “Part of what makes our shows different. We’ve learned some tricks from human rock bands.”

She laughed. “I’ll say.”

* * * * *

Although the Isle of Stone was his home, Mason missed the scent of the Highlands. He often came here when he wanted to be alone, reconnect with his ancient roots. He held Kayla’s hand as they walked through the tall grasses. She spun her head often scanning the scenery by night. “It really is spectacular. Your clan is from here?”

The awe on her face with her appreciation for his homeland delighted him. “Yes.”

“Why would they ever leave?”

“To find peace in a new land. Make a new start.”

“They fought in the Highlands?”

The sparkle in her eye distracted him from the question. He repeated it in his head and nodded. “Much gargoyle blood has tarnished this soil.”

“And now you said they’re back?”

Every word she spoke was melodious. Being alone with her in his sacred space filled him with a sense of completeness with a woman like he’d never experienced. How odd it was with a witch. “The arrival of the humans provided the incentive they needed to return.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

“My four brothers and I are the only ones who remain on the Isle of Stone. We grew up there and we remain there, protecting it. The opportunity to play for a human audience was not a threat to us. We enjoyed playing as ourselves, not hiding who we really are, the way we had to do when we went to play in human cities.”

Mason took her hand in his as they traversed the inclines of the Highlands, through tall grasses and past bracken. The gentle, earthy scent of heather greeted him, a different variety than that which grew on the Isle of Stone, and one that refreshed him in a way that nothing else could.

Except being near Kayla.

A worry line appeared between her brows and he had an urge to ease her discomfort. “What can we do about the situation with the wolves?”

“I’ve been thinking about it on the flight here. When we return to the Isle of Stone, we need to talk to our clans.”

“Convince them it’s time to work together.”

“Exactly.”

“What about the gargoyles here? Are you going to talk to them?”

He shook his head. “The clan has left. My brothers and I make the decisions on how we live there now.”

“That won’t be much of a problem, then, will it?”

He cocked his head. “You haven’t met my brothers. We’re a bunch of stubborn and impulsive fools.” Not only did he have to convince them to work magic with the wolves, but to accept his relationship with a tree witch. If they only knew what she was like, they wouldn’t be able to resist her charm. Beyond her beauty lay her good nature. Whenever he was around her, it took all his self-control not to touch her and wrap himself in her scent. Not that he wanted any of his lust-filled brothers getting too close to his Kayla.

His Kayla, he repeated it to himself.

“Oh.”

He scanned her from head to foot, feasting on her physical presence like a man starved. “I’m happy you came here with me.”

“I’m glad you brought me.”

He moved closer to her and her sweet fragrance greeted him. “I like us being together.” He took a step closer. “Alone.”

His eyes dropped to her lips. They’d parted slightly. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.

“I like it, too.”

He stroked her soft cheek and ran his finger over her plump bottom lip. His heart hammered in his chest. Something about being so close to her, touching her, animated a new type of energy inside him. “Stay with me awhile.”

For a long moment, he heard nothing but the sound of their breathing. Even the sounds of the breeze rustling through the grasses of the Highlands had disappeared.

Finally, she responded, “Aye.”

He bent down to kiss her without any more delay, capturing her delicious mouth. For days and nights, he’d thought about much else but her. Her taste, her touch. How he wanted to bury himself deep within. The ache inside had become almost unbearable. He took her in his arms and claimed her as his own.

* * * * *

Kayla leaned back when he pulled down the neckline of her blouse. How was it possible to want someone this much? Whenever she left him, she thought about the next time they’d meet. He bent down and doted each breast with patient attention. Soft kisses and gentle caressing moved to playful biting before devouring each in his hot mouth.

Mason put her feet on the ground and lifted one of her legs up. She hitched it around his hip and held on to him. He reached under her long black skirt, grasping her panties. He ripped them off, the sound of tearing fabric sounded magnified in the quiet of night. She gasped; the sudden removal of the thin barrier left her vulnerable. When his gentle fingers massaged her slickened folds, she relaxed.

“You’re so warm.” He inserted a thick finger inside her smooth flesh. “So wet.”

“I want you,” she said, her voice sounded darker than normal.

He kissed her lips, her earlobe, and her neck while he stroked her, increasing the pressure on her sensitive nub. She bit her lip as he drove her senses reeling, no longer caring what was around them or who might catch them. Then he dipped his head, pulling her skirt up higher. His warm breath tickled her quivering pussy. She ran her fingers through his dark hair, the strands as soft as the blades of grass in the moors. He licked the length of her slit, exploring every inch of her. When his hot tongue seared her most sensitive spot, she gasped. She leaned against the tree, her moans almost purrs. He increased the pressure on her clit, seeming to know intuitively what she needed. She grabbed the tree trunk with both hands, clawing it as she braced herself for the overpowering sensation building within.

Moans escaped her, but she no longer cared who heard. He lapped her clit with an intensity that drove her to the edge of insanity. Powerful and possessive, he controlled all her senses. When she exploded, she cried out while white lights and bright colors flashed behind her eyes.

As she came down from the intense sensation, he removed the fabric covering him and then rubbed the head of his cock against her opening. “You are protected?”

“Aye.”

She drank a potion each month to avoid pregnancy, not that she’d had a lover for months after a short fling with a male witch ended. Their time together was more of satisfying curiosity and lustful cravings before it fizzled out. She didn’t have strong feelings, nothing like the commanding connection to Mason. An image flashed before her of having a child with him. What would the child of a witch and gargoyle be like?

She chastised herself for thinking of a future with someone so forbidden. They had tonight, and she shouldn’t think beyond it. Sneaking unseen out of the coven was a difficult endeavor, one she could only pull off so many times.

Mason brought her focus to more carnal desires when he pressed his shaft against her. The head teased her opening, moving in and out an inch or two, before he finally entered her. Her channel tightened around him and he held back, waiting for her to grow accustomed to him. Once her muscles slackened, he drove into her with agonizing slowness until he reached the very brink. Pulling out almost the entire way, he then drove in so deeply, she thought his shaft would pierce right through her.

She gasped and dug her nails into his back as he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him as he pressed her against the tree, driving into her like a wild, untamed creature. He bucked into her, emitting a low roar like a fierce beast. She cried out from the pleasure and pain, but clung to him, begging for more. He paused, holding her aloft, before they fell onto the forest floor.

He slid the skirt down over her hips and she kicked it off. Then he reached for her shirt and pulled it over her head.

“I want to see you,” he said. “All of you.”

She scrambled on top of him, mounting him and sliding down with a slow, steady movement.

He gazed up at her. “You are so beautiful.”

Mason caressed her breasts, his thumb and forefinger teasing the nipples with the deft hands of a talented guitarist. He then claimed one in his mouth, and she arched to grant him greater access. His tongue and gentle scraping with his teeth sent a new wave of pleasure floating through her. He used his hands and mouth to offer attention to her other breast. Pleasurable sensations soared through her.

She slowly moved up and down his cock, savoring how every cell in her body responded to him. His hands and mouth covered her breasts while his thick shaft filled her almost to the point of pain. As she built up the pace, he grasped her hips, and raised his own with each thrust. By ramming into her most sensitive areas then increasing the tempo, he shot her to a rapturous height once again. She cried out his name as she came, her walls clenching around him and fluids drenching them both.

He grabbed her shoulders with enough pressure to leave a mark as he pounded harder into her while her muscular contractions slowed.

“Oh God, Kayla.”

Hot liquid shot into her. He released his grasp, and she fell forward onto his smooth chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. His heart hammered beneath her ear. They lay panting for several minutes, neither uttering a word. She was in such a state of relaxation she thought she might fall asleep.

Eventually, a dark thought crept into her blissful state. She had to return to reality, back to her coven at the Isle of Stone. If they knew what she had just done…

“We have to leave,” she said with reluctance.

“No. Not yet,” he said, holding her tighter.

She lay on his chest for another minute, listening to his frenetic heart rate slow. “I have to,” she said. “They’ll come looking for me if I’m not there in the morning. And if they find out I’m with you—it won’t be good.”

Mason took a long slow breath and exhaled. “If we must.”

She stood and gathered her discarded clothes. After she dressed, he remained there naked still, hair disheveled, looking like the most delicious creature she had ever seen.

“I could stay here with you forever.”

She wasn’t sure which melted her heart more—his words or his devastating grin.

* * * * *

As much as she wanted to spend her afternoon remembering the night with Mason, Kayla had to do something about the situation with the wolves. She procrastinated at first, spending a few hours in the vegetable garden. The tomato plants needed support so she added branches as stakes to help support the growing plants. The afternoon sun beat down on her. She wiped sweat from her brow, wishing she’d come out here in the morning when it was cooler.

To clear the dirt and sweat from her body, she walked down to the shore. Stripping off her clothes, she entered the ocean, letting the cool waters refresh her. She toweled off and dressed and then wandered further down the shore, thinking about her next step.

Several witches around her age sat on large flat rocks by the water, where they often gathered when done with chores. They often shared what they’d learned about the human world, especially fascinated by their entertainment.

“Kayla, where have you been?” her friend, Mia, said. “We never see you anymore.”

Guilt hit her square in the chest. Why did she come here? To see her friends or avoid her mother. She looked down at the sand. “Oh, you know. With all the summer growth, I’ve had more work to do and am usually beat by the end of the day.”

“Ah,” Mia said. “I imagine it’s hot under the sun, too.”

“Aye,” Kayla replied. “What’s going on?”

While Mia gave her updates on an argument with her boyfriend, Kayla tried to follow the he did this, he said that dialog. She made the appropriate noises to show she was listening and asked a couple of questions to cover up her distraction.

She hated lying to them, but if they knew where she actually had been—sneaking over to spend her nights with a gargoyle—they would probably turn on her.

Or maybe not. Should she tell them what was going on? Maybe they’d be more receptive to Ian’s plea and they could go en masse before the elders.

No, it was too risky. Because if they turned on her now, she’d have even more witches against her. Best off to start with her mother. At least she was family and wouldn’t disown her.

Hopefully.

“Well, I better get back to help my mother for dinner,” she said. “See you.”

She headed back to find her mother after avoiding her for much of the day. Her mother was crouched down, tending a fire under a cauldron. The scent of cinnamon filled Kayla’s nostrils, reminding her she’d forgotten to eat in all her contemplation.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“What is it, Kayla?” Her mother glanced up.

“It’s about the other clans. I don’t think this division is healthy for any of us.”

“It’s better than us fighting and killing each other, though, isn’t it?”

“Who says we need to fight? We should live and work together in peace.”

Her mother stood up. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No.” She had to reveal the conversation with the alpha carefully since she couldn’t admit the part about meeting Mason. A flush rose in her when she thought of the time they’d spent alone, but she had to force it away to focus. “The alpha wolf approached me last night.”

“In our territory?” Her mother’s mouth opened wide. “Where were you?”

“No. In the moors.”

Her mother responded in a lower tone. “Why would you venture beyond our borders?” Her mother than scanned her body. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, of course not. Let me explain.”

“All right.”

“He told me the magical veil thinning has affected the wolves.” Kayla then summarized the conversation, leaving out the part about Mason being there. “He’s right. This division of our lands is ridiculous. And we can make them a potion to help them. The young ones need it the most.”

“We will do no such thing, Kayla.”

“Why not? What’s so wrong about helping the wolves?”

“We’ve spent several years in peace staying apart from the other clans. Why would we destroy that by interacting with them?”

“You’re being extremely narrow-minded. I don’t see any harm in brewing a potion to help another creature. Isn’t it part of our nature to use our magic for good, not ill will? And didn’t you tell me I should start to have a voice in the future of the coven?”

Her mother stared at her a long moment. After an audible exhale, she said, “I’ll talk to the elders.”

Kayla hugged her. “Thanks. They wouldn’t listen to me. They think I’m just some kid with crazy ideas.”

“Oh, well that’s somewhat true, don’t you think?” Her mother cracked half a smile. “Don’t thank me yet. And you think I’m narrow-minded.”

CHAPTER FIVE

They only had so much time until they were caught.

Mason knew this. But he didn’t want it to end. Their night together in the Highlands had been unlike anything he’d experienced. Over a week had passed since that night, and each time he met her, he fell a little harder for her. All those women he’d seduced in the past had been nothing like this. He’d lose interest after sleeping with them, but making love to Kayla had only increased his feelings. He thought about her all the time. Something about her touched him deep within, a place he didn’t know existed. He wanted to share his world and everything in it with her.

He was playing a dangerous game getting entangled with a tree witch, but he was willing to risk it. As long as he could see her again.

After he played at the concert that evening, he flew from the stage and treaded through the moors to meet Kayla. Visions of her sweet face kept him company while he had spent the day in stone. She snuck out most nights to meet him at the copse, their special sanctuary in between their lands. The highlight of his day wasn’t the nightly concerts, the way it had been before he'd met Kayla, but knowing he might see her.

While Mason searched for her as he crossed the moors, a twinge of panic rose the way it had every night. What if she couldn’t make it out to see him tonight? He knew how difficult it was for her to escape the coven each night. If she didn’t make it… A cold blackness descended through him. No, he wouldn’t think it.

A glimpse of movement passed through the trees. It was her. It had to be. Either that or an animal, maybe a deer. He hurried closer and sniffed the air. Her delicate scent reached him, one fragrant with wildflowers. When he spotted her silhouette through the darkness, warmth spread through him.

He stepped into the cover of trees, entering an earthly paradise. With a tree witch. A month ago, he would’ve hurled curses at the idea, never knowing how enraptured he’d become.

He stepped behind her and held her around the waist. He stood too tall near her, towering over her petite frame like a statue mounted on a pedestal.

Leaning in to smell her hair, he asked, “honeysuckle?”

“Aye,” she answered. “You’re good. I was trimming the tendrils wrapping around a nearby rosebush.”

Her smell alone quickened the flow of his blood.

“My sweet Kayla.” He kissed her smooth neck, nuzzling the warm skin. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last night.”

She tipped her head to grant him more access, and the beast within him roared to life. He raised his hands to cup her breasts, letting the weight fill his palms. He had to touch more of her, all of her. Never had he craved a woman so much. Each hour spent with her solidified how mad he was about her, but since they’d made love, he was done for. She could wrap around him like a serpentine, and he’d die happy.

He brushed her sensitive nipples with his thumbs, her gentle sighs encouraging his erotic exploration. Reaching under her peasant shirt, he found her satiny-soft breasts. He relished how she didn’t wear a bra like human woman did. Her breasts bounced free as they walked, the way they should be, not bound to her body in some cage. Natural as the gods had intended, an invitation for him to touch.

Kissing her soft cheek, he sought her tempting mouth. Turning her toward him, he found her pink lips slightly parted and moist, as if she’d just licked them. So damn tempting. She peered up at him, sensuality burning in the sea-blue depths of her eyes.

He couldn’t wait another moment to taste her; the hunger for her grew too intense. He covered her sweet mouth with his own, teasing and biting her full lower lip, and probing between them with his eager tongue. She softened against his hard chest in the way he loved, appealing to his protective nature as a gargoyle and his lustful nature as a man.

His fingers traveled up her arm and down again, her skin had a magical effect on him. Being near her, touching her, calmed him in a way hours as stone never did. It brought something deeper to his soul. Brought him closer to peace. Happiness. Completeness.

He pulled her shirt over her head and removed her skirt and sandals until she stood before him naked, her smooth skin glowing radiant under the sliver of moon piercing through the trees and starlit sky. Her firm breasts rose and fell with her breath. His eyes traveled over her feminine shape, memorizing the way her waist tapered in and curved out with her luscious hips. A gentle breeze brought the scent of her arousal to his sensitive nostrils, and he stiffened, ready to pounce on her. It took all his self-control not to throw her onto the ground and bury himself deep within her.

Her fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on her belly.

“You’re beautiful. Such a bonny sight.” He stepped forward and took that hand, kissing her slim fingers, before placing them on his chest. Her gaze traveled down, watching her fingers trace the indentations on his torso. He puffed his chest out under her admiration.

When he lifted her in his arms, cupping her rounded buttocks, she yelped in surprise. “I’ve got you,” he assured her before lowering onto the soft moss carpet.

He tasted her mouth again while his hands wandered over her skin. Her flesh was as smooth as rose petals. He nibbled and kissed her shoulders, licking over the mounds of her delicious breasts. Her hard nipples pointed straight to the stars, a tempting invitation. He took one of the delicate morsels in his mouth, feasting on it. Kayla arched upward and sighed. He claimed the other nipple while his hands moved down her body, over the flatness of her belly to the super soft area between her thighs. Heat radiated from her, driving his need even higher. He managed to hold on to a shred of control as he moved down the length of her body, to her glistening pink folds, letting his heated breath signal what he meant to do.

Wetting his fingers in her slick heat, he stroked her sensitive flesh before dropping his head to taste her. She moaned in pleasure, running her fingers through his hair. Another bolt of energy shot straight to his cock, urging him to take her. He licked every savory inch, a sensual exploration of her most secret spots. Slow licks turned into increased pressure on her sensitive nub. She arched beneath him, coaxing him for more. He slid his fingers into her channel, probing her while sucking the bundle of nerves until she cried out his name, covering his tongue with her honey.

Mason rose to his knees, watching her beautiful face with awe, before kissing her. She quivered beneath him when he teased her entry with the head of his cock. Although she was so wet, he still met with resistance as he penetrated her heat. She was so tight, wrapped around him like the most pleasurable vice. She grabbed his shoulder blades and bit her lip as her walls relaxed, granting him deeper access.

He lifted her rear off the ground and gave her everything he had. As heavenly as this sensation was, he wanted more of her. All of her. He wouldn’t stop until their bodies connected on the deepest level possible. She gasped with each thrust, her breasts bouncing. Her nails scraped from his shoulder blades down his back until they settled at the top of his buttocks. The sweet pain excited him, quickening the fiery heat coursing through his veins right into to his shaft.

Kayla rose higher off the ground, meeting his thrusts with an increasing tempo while grasping on to him. Her muscles clamped tighter on his swollen cock, the blood flow furiously pounding through it. Her moans grew louder, her grip tightened, and she turned her face onto the mossy groundcover. Her contractions pulsed around him, and she cried out as she covered him with her delicious fluids.

He paused, savoring the moment still swollen deep inside her as her contractions slowed. If he kept fucking her like that, he would come and he didn’t want their time together to end, yet.

“Wow,” she said with a heavenly sigh. “That was brilliant.”

He beamed under her appraisal. “Turn around.”

She raised her eyebrow with a smoldering gaze, before turning over onto all fours. Her tempting round cheeks were visible in the candle-like glow from the night sky. He swatted one playfully and she turned to cast him a surprised look.

“Ouch!”

“You like it,” he retorted. “I know you do.” And smacked the other cheek. “Don’t you?”

She yelped and then said, “Maybe a wee bit.”

He leaned over her and reached between her legs to touch her glistening pussy, easily slipping his finger into her wet heat. “Maybe a lot.”

The beast inside him roared louder, leaving him with only a shard of control. Making love to her on the forest floor was one thing, exquisite, but fucking her like an animal in the cool night air was a different sensation that threatened to rock his being from the inside out. He wanted to taste her again, touch every inch of her, pound into her slick heat until she was begging for mercy.

“Yesss,” she agreed through a voice that came out with a rasp.

She leaned forward, her breasts hanging low. He had to touch them.

He coated the head of his dick with her slick fluids before sliding into her wet channel. She gripped him again with her tight muscles in the way he loved and then relaxed, easing his entry. The deeper he went, the louder the beast inside him roared. When fully in, he moved in and out, pumping her harder with each stroke.

Her head dropped closer to the grass as he drove into her, pants and moans escaping her each time he drove in. The beast had fully woken, this was what he wanted, and he couldn’t be denied this exquisite pleasure.

Her moans turned into cries with each frantic thrust. She grasped the grass, pulling at it as her head thrashed from one side and then the other as he pounded into her without restraint.

“No,” she uttered. “I can’t take it.”

He paused. “No?”

After a few exhales, she said, “No, don’t stop,” More panting. “It’s so much. But please don’t stop.”

Her pleasure through pain excited him. Each time they’d gotten together, he pushed the boundaries a little further. Discovering anything she liked while they made love gave him a thrill. Only he knew this about her, only he could please her this way. He wondered if there were others before him, knew there had been, and a sharp poke seemed to stab him inside his ribcage. No, he wouldn’t think about them. She was his. A wee thing under him, he feared he might break her, yet she wanted all that he gave.

“You want me to keep fucking you like this?” He grabbed her hair and pulled. “Do you like it when I do this?”

“Yes!” she cried out. “Yes.”

He kissed her shoulder and gently bit it. When he reached around to find her swollen clit, she cried out at first, but then relaxed under his strokes. He increased the pressure and her inner walls tensed. A sheen of perspiration covered her back and shoulder blades. He had to be ten thousand degrees himself. She pressed against his fingers, riding his hand and taking control of the pace, raising it to a feverish pitch.

She yelled out, calling “Oh, Mason. Oh, goddesses.” She collapsed forward, coating his fingers in her sticky-sweet fluids.

The tightness around him was too much. The pulsing around his muscle too intense. He gripped her hips and drove in deeper. And harder still. The beast wanted all of her. Pleasure raced through him at an uncontrollable speed, pumping through his veins straight to his cock. He exploded, dropping his head when he came, unleashing an animalistic growl as he shot hot jets of fluid deep into her.

His mouth fell open as he panted for air. His heart must have beat a thousand times a minute. She was covered in a light layer of sweat. He traced his fingers through the glistening wetness, leaving patterns on her skin. Where he had grabbed her had left white marks on her. Hell, he’d been too rough with her.

“Are you all right?”

She turned to him and smiled. “Fantastic. Only I doubt I’ll be able to move for a week.”

The color returned to her skin, but guilt still rushed through him as quick as the blood had rushed to his cock moments before. “Did I hurt you?”

She rolled onto her back, and dropped a hand to her belly. “In a good way.”

He closed his eyes. He never should have let the beast in him loose.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hurt you. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Come here,” she said, raising her arms to him.

He laid his head against the crook of her neck, careful of his weight pressed on her. Their hearts pounded at a higher rate than normal, still recovering from their session.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was somewhat painful, but in a good way. Know what I mean?”

“I do.” Relief lifted the twinges of regret that were settling on him. He rose onto his forearms and kissed her lips.

“In case you couldn’t tell, I liked it. I liked it a lot. And if you take it easy on me from here on out, I will be greatly disappointed.” She peered at him with a straight face and then broke into a grin.

Her smile lit up her face, danced through her eyes, and he couldn’t resist smiling in return. “I’ll take note of that.” Gods, he was falling for her, falling as deeply as into a chasm with no end. “Because I want to be the one to make you happy.”

“You do, Mason.” She stroked from his cheek to shoulder with such slow deliberation, it left him speechless. “More than you know.”

After several languid moments where he savored Kayla wrapped in his arms and their legs entangled, she brought him back to the reality they had to face.

“Have you talked to the others about the wolves?” She propped herself on her forearm and faced him.

His muscles tensed, their stolen moment in each other’s arms ending. She’d asked him a couple of times when they’d met, but he’d find a way to distract her with more carnal pursuits. “I haven’t,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure where to begin.”

“You need to, Mason.” She peered at him with her wide blue eyes. “It’s important. Not only to them. To all of us.”

“Did you talk to your coven?”

“I spoke to my mother.”

“And?”

“She wasn’t happy at first. I had to leave the part about you out. But she said she’d talk to the elders. She hasn’t as of yet.”

“I’ll talk to my brothers,” he promised.

Kayla ran her fingers along a lacy fern and her brows tightened.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Each time I’m with you, I worry it may be the last time.”

An icy chill ran up his spine. “Why?”

“All this sneaking around. I don’t know how long we can keep doing it.”

Her words got him right in the gut. The time he’d actually been jostled by a caber, a tree trunk twenty feet long, during the Highland Games paled in comparison. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t keep coming up with diversions or sneaking out of gatherings. They’re bound to catch me sooner or later.”

His insides clenched, churning painfully. If she was ending it—no, he wouldn’t even contemplate it. “We’ll have to find another way to get together.”

She arched her brows. “How? Neither your clan nor my coven would accept it. It’s impossible.”

“No, Kayla. We can’t let them keep us apart. You know how I feel about you. I can’t let you go.”

Her head tilted. “I don’t, actually. How?”

A burning sensation built through him as he tried to sum up his feelings, which he didn’t even understand himself. It was a good question. He lusted after her like no woman he’d ever met, craved being around her with a compulsion that almost bordered on obsession. But was it love?

No, he wouldn’t think that way. If she rejected him… He’d sulk away a good and bloody fool and rightly so. Maybe to her she he was just a diversion, sexual recreation. And now she was trying to end it.

“Well?” she prodded.

“Oh, come on. You already know. I come to meet you every night.”

She arched a brow. “So you like having sex with me, I gather.”

He ran his hand over his head. “It’s more than that.”

“Like?”

She wouldn’t let it rest, would she? She was going to make him say something. “I’m fond of you.”

She nodded and said, “Uh huh.” Then she rose to her feet. “How lovely.”

Anger radiated from her. The quick, snappish way she dressed confirmed it.

“Don’t be like that,” he added and stood up. “You know what I mean. I’m very fond of you.” He quickly donned his kilt.

“Well, that’s good,” she said in a flippant tone. “I’d hate for us to risk the ire of our clans if we weren’t fond of each other.”

“Damn it, Kayla, what do you want me to say? I care about you? You know that already.”

“How would I know that?” She narrowed her eyes. “I come to you night after night, sneaking away from the coven. It’s not as difficult for you. You have more freedom.”

“And yet, I still can’t get over to you. There are so many damn spells keeping me out.”

“You’ve tried?”

“When I was young.”

“And what happened?”

He inhaled. “I got blown onto my arse and felt like a bloody fool, that’s what happened.” When Kayla giggled, he said, “Oh you think that’s funny, do you?” He grabbed her and tickled her sides, and laid her back on the ground.

“No, Mason,” she pleaded through her laughter. “Don’t.

“Ticklish?” He straddled her and his hands moved down her body, over her thighs. “Let’s see where else you’re ticklish.”

“Stop,” she protested, while thrashing around to avoid his probing fingers. “You’re trying to avoid the question.”

He stopped and pinned her wrists above her head. “And what question was that again?”

“Don’t play.” She pouted.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “What do you want me to say?” He searched her blue eyes. “I’m crazy about you. I think about you all the time.” Releasing his wrists, he leaned on his heels. “I know this whole thing is supposed to be wrong and I wonder what the hell I’m doing. But it doesn’t feel wrong at all. Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to give you up.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t want you to.”

“What can we do?”

She shook her head before raising her hands and dropping them. “I don’t know.”

“We can run off together,” he suggested.

Her eyes widened before she sat up. “And go where?” She searched the horizon, spreading her arms wide.

“Anywhere. Leave this isle. Go to the Highlands or the cities. Find someplace where we can blend in.”

She cast her eyes to the ground. “I know nothing of other lands other than a few hours with you in the Highlands. I’m a witch with a knack for herbal potions. Where will that get me in the modern world?”

“You’d be skilled in a number of ways. You could work in gardens or in a position helping people with herbal remedies if you wanted a human job. Or we would find a way to live off the land as we have here. Whatever it is, we’ll find a way to adapt.”

“But what about your brothers? You’ll miss them.”

“If they won’t accept you, then…”

Her smile lit up her face. “You’d leave your home, your family for me?”

“It doesn’t matter where we go as long as I’m with you.”

“Does this mean you really care about me? This isn’t just some fling?”

“Of course. It’s real to me. Very real.”

“Do you love me?” Her voice was just above a whisper.

His body burned again. Love. Words he’d never said to a female before. Was it possible that these overpowering compulsions to be near and protect her were more than lustful stirrings? Could he be falling in love?

* * * * *

“Kayla!”

The unmistakable voice of her mother indicated one thing. She was caught.

“What are you doing with a—a—a gargoyle?”

Kayla turned in the direction of her mother’s voice and found her advancing on her with her two sisters flanking her.

“What are you doing?” Kayla’s voice rose with her indignant protest. “Following me?”

“This is not right,” Aunt Muriel said. “You know you should not be associating with their kind.”

“I knew you were up to something,” her mother added. “All the questions about gargoyles. All the absences each evening.”

Mason stepped toward them. “The quarrel is not ours. Kayla and I do not harbor any ill will to other clans.”

The mixture of shocked, surprised, and disgusted expressions on the witches’ faces summarized their distaste for Mason. Kayla’s mother scanned from his face down his bare chest and over his kilt.

“Did you dare touch my daughter?” She raised her hand and hurled a ball of light his way, knocking him off his feet. “You loathsome creature!”

Mason fell to the ground, laid out on his back from the surge of energy.

“What have you done?” Kayla shouted, rushing to his aid. “You don’t know him at all.”

“It’s all right,” he said, sitting upright with unsteadiness.

“No, it’s not,” Kayla said. “Leave us alone,” she cried to the women.

Aunt Muriel and Aunt Emma exchanged knowing looks with her mother.

“Absolutely not!” her mother declared, moving forward to grab her upper arm and drag her from Mason. “This is forbidden. Betraying your coven!”

Her aunts joined in, grabbing Kayla and pulling her from Mason. “Let go of me!” Her cries were futile as they dragged her to their territory “Mason!” she turned over her shoulder.

Mason tried to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him.

“What have you done to him?” she screamed. “Let me go.” She fought to escape their grasps.

Her aunt said words she didn’t recognize. Her senses were clouded by a sense of calm until she didn’t remember why she was upset. She stopped struggling and let them lead to the coven.

CHAPTER SIX

Mason stumbled to his feet. That damn tree witch had knocked him on his arse, and he’d been unable to stand for several minutes. His legs were still rubbery.

What the hell? He’d had enough of their sense of superiority with their precious protective spells. They’d called him a creature. That was it; he was going there to find Kayla.

Watching her being dragged away pierced his heart with an agony greater than any physical one he’d ever known. What he’d been wrestling with came to him as clear as the sun on a cloudless midsummer day. He loved her. So what if she was a tree witch? The rivalry between their clans no longer mattered.

He loved her, and he’d do anything to be with her. Even facing the wretched spells from the damn witches who’d taken her away.

He flew out of the forest, scanning below for signs of the foursome returning through the moors. The emerald green fields were empty. He must have been knocked out of commission longer than he’d thought. Was Kayla already at her coven? Facing the wrath of the other witches?

Picturing her being punished for cavorting with him filled him with a dread heavy enough to weigh down his wings. Recovering from the distraction, he ascended higher. He soared to a spot with a vantage point of their land. His heartbeat quickened with the risk. It had been several years since he’d last tried to venture there. He’d been a young gargoyle then and far too curious. Fascinated with a world he was forbidden to see, he convinced his youngest brother, Calum, to explore what had been closed off to them.

They had waited until midnight before they took flight, hoping their gargoyle magic of masking themselves in the darkened skies would work on witches the way it did on humans. Excitement had made him buoyant, he’d quickened the flap of his wings and soared forward. And then he had seen the treetops just as he did now. When he had flown toward it, he had hit something invisible, but as hard as glass. Electrical shocks had followed, they had pulsed through him and sent him hurling toward the ground at a dangerous speed. The earth had approached quickly, much too fast. If he didn’t do something fast, he’d end up a bag of jelly on the forest floor, or seriously crippled. He flapped his wings and found a flight rhythm again with nary a second to spare.

And here he was again several years later attempting the same foolish maneuver that had almost killed him in his youth. He shook his head with a nervous laugh. Love made all species do crazy things. But he was older and smarter now, plus he had more experience. Instead of attempting to fly in from above, he descended to the edge of the moors and walked.

Stepping forward with confident strides that belied his wariness, he hoped the witches protective spells had weakened, as they had over the rest of the island. He followed the path that he had watched Kayla take night after night while he waited until she was safe.

The grass beneath his feet thinned as he approached their territory. The grass of the moors gave way to sparsely planted trees. His heart beat quicker. If he made it through, he would find her and ask her to leave with him.

Ferns and groundcover grew all around. He had to be in their territory by now. Did that mean he’d made it through? His chest pumped out as he strode forward. After a moment of triumph, a stab of fear pierced him. If he could get through, so could the younger wolves, the ones Ian had explained most at risk for losing control.

His steps quickened; the idea of Kayla being in danger pushing him forward. The further he penetrated, the more his heart pounded. He had to get to Kayla. Find a way to be with her and keep her safe.

Smack!

The sounds of birds tearing through the branches to flee reached him as he soared through the air, and then hit the ground with a thump. Staring up through the trees to the blue sky meant one thing. He’d been blown onto his back. Jolts of pain ripped through him, as sharp as electrical currents traveling through his veins.

Damn witches! Their barrier was still intact.

Mason lay there staring at the clouds sailing by as the throbbing eased. When he mustered enough strength to rise to his feet, he turned toward the gargoyle’s land.

He’d have to find another way to get to her.

* * * * *

Kayla woke in her tree house after a night of no dreams. That was odd, usually her dreams were vivid. She thought back to the night before and bolted upright.

Mason.

Her mother and aunts had found them and had taken her away from him. They must have put a spell on her.

She dressed and found the three women in the clearing between their tree houses. Her mother stirred something in a bowl while her aunts flipped through a book of spells.

“Is that where you found the spell you used on him?” She’d never shouted at her aunts before, but the accusation in her tone was clear. “And me?”

Her aunts stared at her, and one closed the book.

“We had to,” her mother replied in a calm tone. “You were out of control.”

“Out of control?” Kayla repeated, shaking her head. “You have no right to do this. I’m of age to make my own decisions—”

“I have every right to do so since you clearly are making poor decisions! I am still your mother. You are not to see the gargoyle again!”

“What are you going to do, guard me here like a prisoner?” Kayla motioned to the three women standing before her.

“That’s exactly what I should do.” Her mother hmphed while adding flour to the mixture in an earthen bowl.

“Consorting with a gargoyle,” Aunt Muriel muttered with a shake of her head. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t see it with my own eyes.”

“You’re wrong about them,” Kayla said.

Her mother stopped stirring. “What were you thinking?”

“Did you talk to the elders about the wolves?”

“I have not had a chance since I’ve been too concerned with my daughter who’s been acting suspicious. And don’t think I’m even about to help you with that lost cause, now.”

“Your mother told us.” Aunt Muriel shook her head. “First, a wolf and now a gargoyle.”

“This whole thing is so stupid.” Kayla paced before them, waving her hands. “You know that, right?”

“Stupid how?”

“We live on one island. Why can’t we be normal, you know, and share the island? Instead of carving out areas.”

Aunt Emma tilted her head. Kayla honed in on her to gain sympathy. “We should share the land as neighbors.”

“Not this again. You know what they’ve done.” Her mother pointed the wooden spoon in her direction, and some of the white mixture fell to the dirt below.

“I know what the elders have told us,” Kayla replied. “But what if they’re not telling the whole story?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” her mother asked.

“Did the tree witches curse the gargoyles?” Kayla asked, scanning from one face to the next for any signs.

“Curse them?” Aunt Muriel raised her brows. “Have you been experimenting with herbs?”

“No. I’m serious.”

“Why would you say that?” her mother asked.

“They think we’ve used magic on them. That it prevented them from having young.”

“And when did we supposedly do this?” Aunt Muriel asked.

“Before the clashes.”

“So that’s why they attacked us?” Aunt Emma asked. “It’s never been clear.”

Kayla’s mother put her hands on her hips. “And where did you get this information from? Your gargoyle friend?”

Her mother skewered her with a glare, but Kayla didn’t back down. “He would be a good source of their side of the story, wouldn’t he?”

“Don’t sass me, Kayla. Consider the source of this skewed information.”

“I am. Since I can’t get a decent explanation from our coven, why wouldn’t I give a reasonable explanation some consideration? We have the potential to create such a curse. I’m asking if someone in our clan actually did.”

“Why would we want to wipe out their clan?” Aunt Muriel asked.

Kayla shrugged. “To claim the isle.”

“Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother said.

“So no tree witches that you know of have cursed the gargoyles?”

“Of course not,” her mother said, resuming her stirring.

“Then why were their women unable to bear children?”

Her mother stared at her a long time before answering. “I’m a tree witch, Kayla. Not a psychic.”

Kayla spent the day being monitored by her mother and aunts. She didn’t think she’d ever have a free moment. After hours of this scrutiny, she’d had enough.

“I’m going for a swim,” she said.

“Stay where I can see you,” her mother said.

Kayla rolled her eyes as she walked away, hating being treated like a toddler.

She climbed down the moss-covered craggy rocks and into the clear water. The briskness chilled her right through to her bones until she became accustomed to the temperature. Scores of sea birds soared past descending close to the shore in search of fish. She floated on her back and watched the clouds glide by while her thoughts drifted to Mason.

The idea of not seeing him pained her worse than when she had fallen into brambles, piercing every inch of skin. The thought of never looking into those moss-green eyes, never kissing those full carved lips, or tracing the muscles under his smooth skin, left her with an ache inside. Never having his thick shaft penetrate her with such exquisite pleasure and pain while he peppered her with soft kisses and whispered into her ear—it was unthinkable. Just being near him filled her with such content.

After drying off, she walked to the herb garden, but tended it with a lack of her usual interest. Not being able to see Mason each night filled her with a fear she’d she’d never find joy again.

She’d also miss the concerts with all their vibrancy in her otherwise routine life. A night of music, the energy of the crowd, it provided an excitement that growing up in the coven lacked. Visiting their side of the island had shown her life beyond the forests. A bigger world existed out there, and she wanted to experience it. A world introduced to her by the charismatic guitarist who had captured her heart.

Had he made it home okay? Did he miss her the way she ached for him? The first time she’d seen him on stage, the attraction was purely physical. Since then, it had developed into something more. His protective streak and his concern for her well-being was something no other witch had for her.

If her family was so close-minded that they thought she’d live and die in the trees, cut off from the rest of the world, she’d have to leave the island. If they couldn’t accept whom she loved, she and Mason would have to go somewhere else.

She glanced at the herbs in her hand and discovered an answer to her problem. She cut several more herbs necessary for a potion. One that would make the women sleep long enough so she could escape their watchful eyes. She was running away, leaving the coven. The Highlands, the human cities, it didn’t matter. As long as she was with him.

* * * * *

Mason found no solace while he rested in stone, his mind tormented by thoughts of Kayla. Had they punished her because she’d been with him? They’d dragged her from him, knocked him on his arse, and he couldn’t do anything to stop them. Now he started to see why the gargoyles hated the tree witches so.

No. Don’t think that. Kayla is one, and she is the sweetest creature you’ve ever encountered.

He tried calming techniques to shift into a meditative state, but nothing worked. He had to find a way over to Kayla. His failed attempt earlier meant he needed more help. He had to enlist his brothers. Together, they would find a way into the forests of Northern Caledonia; discover the weakness in the coven’s shield.

But first, he had to tell his brothers about Kayla. And the wolves. They most likely wouldn’t understand. But he didn’t know of another way.

Brothers, I need your help, he communicated to them, interrupting their deep repose.

What is it? Calum replied.

I’ve met a lass.

His brothers hooted within their stone forms.

I knew it, Gavin said. That’s why you’ve been acting all moony lately.

And disappearing after our shows, Lachlan pointed out.

There’s a problem, Mason said. We’re unable to be together.

Why not? Calum asked. Is she human?

No, he answered with caution.

In the Highlands? Gavin added.

No, Mason replied in a lower tone. She’s on the Isle. In the silence that followed, he swore he heard his heart beat through his stone form, no matter how ridiculous the idea.

Finally, Bryce spoke. Is she not a gargoyle?

She is not.

More silence. His insides prickled with uneasiness and he forced himself to remain calm. It was impossible to feel human body traits while in stone so it had to be a trick from his mind.

Which is she—wolf or—tree witch? The scorn in Lachlan’s tone communicated his distaste.

The latter.

You’ve fallen for a tree witch? Bryce’s voice conveyed his disapproval.

Do you know nothing of our history? Lachlan added.

That was from a time long ago, a quarrel between others. It’s time for a new future.

You have gone mad, Lachlan declared. She’s bewitched you.

The wolves have approached us and requested our help. The thinning veil has affected them, especially the youngest, who face more difficulty in resisting the lure of the moon. That’s why they’ve been howling in distress lately.

Witches and wolves? Gavin teased. You dog.

This is serious, Gavin. We must make peace with those who share the isle. We’re more welcoming to humans who are strangers to the island than we are to those who share it with us.

And cursed us, Bryce replied.

We don’t know that for sure.

You doubt the elders? Lachlan asked.

No. But I question what hasn’t been shown to be true.

You were young, Mason, Lachlan said. Just two years old. You don’t remember. But it was a bloody time. Much death on all sides. If you want to be with a tree witch, I can’t help you, brother.

Mason paused. In the moment that followed, the others also said they couldn’t help him, even his closest brother, Calum. Their response pierced like daggers from all directions.

I understand, but I have no choice. I love her. And if I can’t be with her here, we must leave the isle.

Their silence extended, accentuated by the faint sounds of waves hitting the shore.

Go in peace, brother, Bryce spoke.

Mason’s chest tightened even in stone. This will be my last show with the Knights of Stone. I leave tonight.

* * * * *

Kayla raced across the moors to the gargoyle forest, knowing every moment she had was measured. She’d never concocted a sleeping potion before, and she didn’t know how much time she had until they awoke. A twinge of guilt pierced her knowing she’d drugged her mother and aunts, but she didn’t know of another way out. The entire coven was close-minded, stuck in the ways of the past, and prejudiced against anyone not like them.

As she reached the edge of the woods, she smiled, thinking of the first time she met Mason there. All those stolen moments since then under the carpet of stars returned, especially the last time they’d met. The rough way he had pulled her hair and slapped her ass had evoked a surprising response—she had enjoyed it, a lot. Even the memory thrilled her and made her blush.

Her steps were hampered by the sack she carried with her belongings. The sky was darkening, and the gargoyles would animate on stage soon. She didn’t want to miss the moment when her stone lover transformed to warm delicious flesh, whose slightest touch could make her quake with need. Trotting the last several hundred feet, she reached the open area where a crowd surrounded the amphitheater. The gargoyle statues were already dressed in their kilts, which meant the show would soon begin.

The full moon hung low in the night sky and was greater in size than usual. Their ancestors had called it the giant moon, explaining it was when the moon was close enough to touch and its effects more pronounced. Mason’s familiar stone silhouette loomed with a magnificent ethereal glow under the spotlight from the heavens above.

Something was in the air that night. Kayla sensed a powerful, magnetic tension that filled her with uneasiness.

She shook her head, casting it off. It was simply the guilt from drugging her family and running away.

The gargoyles sparked with movement, animating with life. She marveled at her lover’s transformation. Once in human form, they picked up their instruments and played.

She tried to catch Mason’s attention through the waving arms of the audience, but his eyes were downcast. Every now and then, they flickered to his left, to the direction of the moors and her home.

Mason’s face remained hardened as if still in stone. The only clues to his state flashed from his eyes, which alternated emoting melancholy and determination.

Her heart thumped. Was he thinking about her? Wondering if he could find a way back to her?

She pushed her way to the front of the stage; she had to let him know she was here.

See me, she willed. I’m right before you.

Seconds pounded like a ticking click before he searched the crowd. Did her message make it through?

When he caught her eyes, he beamed. The smile lit his face, energy must have rippled through his body, and he played with renewed vigor. The crowd sensed it, too, and cheered their appreciation.

* * * * *

She’d made it over to him. How he didn’t know. The dread that had burrowed its way deep into his chest cavity no longer had such a powerful hold.

Mixed emotions vied for dominance during the show. Wondering if Kayla was okay. Wondering how he’d get to her. Lamenting how this was the last show with his brothers, something he’d loved to do.

It couldn’t last forever and they’d known it from the start. It was only a matter of time before government or military figures appeared at their show to investigate inevitable rumors that would spread from person to person. When that happened, Mason and his brothers had planned to bolt into the air and leave the Isle of Stone. If they were separated, they’d meet in their ancestral homeland in the Highlands and figure out their next move from there.

While they had the opportunity to play as gargoyles as the Knights of Stone, they would enjoy every last minute of it.

Mason tried to imprint every detail during this last experience playing here at the gargoyle amphitheater. The pound of the surf wasn’t audible behind them, but still he felt the ocean’s presence behind him like a living thing. One of the things he’d loved about the isle was living beside the sea. The torches on the stage cast a flickering glow as well as a warmth on his skin. The red and purple spotlights highlighted his brothers, but what struck him most was their unique sound. Their rock and roll was unlike any he had heard, echoes of tribal music combined with Calum’s iconic war cries. How’d he’d miss playing with them. How he’d miss them.

And the audience. Although they’d inevitably be the ones who’d reveal their secrets to the world, how he loved their enthusiasm at their concerts. Without them, they’d have no one to play for. Their cheers and shouts energized them, encouraging him and his brothers to play with more ardor and vigor than when they were on their own. Most of all, if they’d never put on these shows, he wouldn’t have met the female that stood out to him in the crowd. The one who he could never keep his eyes off of, especially now.

He smiled at her again, anticipating how he could take her into his arms after the show was over.

A few songs later, Bryce had a drum solo, which gave Mason a chance to regroup. Calum sent a telepathic message. That’s the one, isn’t it?

Aye, Mason replied. No other words were passed between them and Mason picked up the guitar and began to play again.

A few minutes passed before Calum added. I sense a surge of emotions. You do love the lass, don’t you?

I do.

Calum glanced at Kayla several times as he pounded around on stage like a possessed rock star. She doesn’t appear to be evil.

She isn’t. She’s the most extraordinary, kind creature I’ve ever met.

A tree witch?

Yes.

And you’ll leave us to be with her?

I must. Mason’s chest pumped out with love for her as he cemented his choice. He raised the guitar and joined the instrumental interlude. The lead that had settled into his feet earlier dissipated, replaced with a new buoyancy.

Calum joined his brothers as he belted out a scream, joining them in the song of ancient tribal wars on the Highlands. The pounding chorus of the warriors working as one echoed the solidarity of their brotherhood. Mason threw all his energy into the music, drowning out the underlying reminder echoing in his head that this was their last time playing together.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A disturbance rippled through the air around Kayla. She couldn’t place what it was, but something was off in the Isle of Stone.

She caught Mason’s gaze often while he played guitar. Could he sense it, too? She could not discern it from his expression, all emotion seeming to come from throwing his heart into the music. After another song, his eyebrows tightened and he fixed his gaze on her. His worried expression increased her anxiety.

Howls erupted from every direction. The same urgent cries from the wolves when she was with Mason the other night, but now they were closer. Too close. They sounded right outside the amphitheater.

The audience searched around with wonder, giving each other confused looks. Many people asked if wolves were part of the show. Others replied they’d never seen them before.

The howling sounded even closer. The gargoyles put down their instruments and straightened, tilting their heads as if to listen. They exchanged glances and nodded to each other.

What the hell was going on? She had to get to Mason and ask him.

Before she even twitched a muscle, a wolf leapt into the crowd and knocked a woman to the ground. A blood stain crept out from her neck. Other wolves followed, attacking the humans. The coppery scent of spilled blood filled the air. People shrieked, running in all directions. Some braver ones tried to pull the wolves from their human prey.

The gargoyles flew from the stage, changing their appearance in mid-air. Their skin changed to a gray hue, its texture hardening in between flesh and stone. Their massive black wings made them appear twice their size, surrounded them like dark warrior angels. Their kilts fluttered with movement as they descended on the wolves.

Kayla’s mouth dropped as Mason fought an enormous gray wolf with gnashing teeth. She ran to him, she had to do something, even though her strength could not compete with that of a gargoyle or wolf shifter.

Think, Kayla, think.

She didn’t have their physical prowess, but she was a skilled witch. She ran through a quick catalog of enchantments she’d learned, ones she’d never had reason to use during her peaceful upbringing.

Her mental cataloging was interrupted by a slash of red erupting from Mason’s shoulder blade. She cried out for him, horrified at the gash revealed as the wolf tore away.

She threw a ball of light and energy at the wolf, without any forethought; a reaction rather than a conscious spell. The force knocked the wolf several feet away from Mason. Stunned, it took a moment to stand on four legs and limp away.

A wolf bounded onto the stage and howled again. The other wolves bent their heads and wailed in what appeared to be a submissive reply, moving to the stage. The remaining humans who hadn’t already fled the area ran, blood streaking down over their skin, bite marks from the wolves’ attack.

Kayla rushed over to Mason and searched for the wounds. His new form momentarily distracted her, one in between his transformation between stone and man, so different from the one she made love to by night. She wiped streaks of blood from his chest around a vicious looking wound on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. You? Did they touch you?” Mason’s voice came out lower than in human form, but one still recognizable as his.

“They didn’t get near me.” The wound was deeper than it appeared at first and too much blood oozed from it. If she didn’t do something to staunch it, he could be in danger. She closed her eyes and repeated an ancient healing spell her aunts had taught her. Lowering her hands palm-down over his injured flesh, she let her hands hover as she pooled healing energy. When she gathered a substantial amount, she circled over the opening and repeated the Latin phrase. Magic flowed from her into him and slowed the blood flow.

“What have you done?” He uttered with amazement. “It doesn’t hurt like it did.”

The wound appeared smaller. “I’m helping your body heal quicker.”

A grin stretched across his face. “Magical.”

She shrugged. “I’m a witch.”

The sound of more howls demanded their attention back to the stage. The massive gray wolf scanned the area from ice blue eyes.

“The alpha,” Mason said.

She nodded. It had to be the one they’d met in the moors. “Ian.”

The wolf transformed into a naked male and she couldn’t help blush when Ian stood before them without clothes. When she caught Mason’s eyes, a smile tugged at his mouth.

Ian commanded the other wolves to come to him. The other gargoyles, although themselves wounded, tended humans. When she went to assist in healing the humans, they glanced at her as with a mix of curiosity and wariness in their expressions. One with red scratches over his chest approached her and beckoned her to the side.

“Do you have magic that can erase this memory?”

She searched through her mental catalog, but didn’t think of one. Even if she did, would she use it? Messing with someone’s mind was powerful magic; one that took away a person’s rights.

She shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t.”

He exhaled audibly and returned to the other gargoyles. At some point they’d all changed to their human forms. Would they let a tree witch help them?

She took a deep breath before introducing herself to them. “I’m Kayla. May I help?”

Mason stepped beside her. “Kayla, these are my brothers.” He pointed to each of them and said, “Gavin, Calum, Bryce, and Lachlan.”

The one who’d asked her about a memory spell was Gavin. Calum had a nasty gash above his knee. “That gash needs to be seen to. Will you let me take a look at it?”

Calum tilted his head. “And do what?”

“Just let her see to it,” Mason said. “Look at my shoulder. The wound is almost healed.”

Calum glanced at Mason and seconds ticked by.

“Okay,” Calum said.

She used the same healing magic on Calum’s wound. Gavin then let her examine his blood-covered torso. “These are mostly superficial scratches,” she said. “But this may help them heal quicker and relieve the discomfort.”

Gavin thanked her when she was done. The two other gargoyles kept their distance and watched her with wariness. Oh well, she had plenty of other wounded wolves and humans who would accept her help.

In another twenty minutes, all the humans had left the island. No doubt they would tell others about the wolf attack and humans would come to investigate what had happened. She’d heard about their thorough techniques for examining crime scenes. At least nobody had died.

She wiped sweat beading on her forehead. The worst was over for tonight. They’d deal with the ramifications tomorrow.

Odd, she had come over here to run away with Mason. After the situation with the wolves, she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t just leave everything unsettled, could she? Her family was on the island. They could be in danger if the wolves attacked again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother and aunts approach with quick, angry strides, fury blazing in their eyes.

Shit.

“You drugged us!” her mother accused, waving a finger in Kayla’s direction.

“I had to,” she exclaimed. “You held me like a prisoner. And put a spell on me.”

“I’m your mother.”

Kayla motioned around. “We can’t talk about this right now. There’s something more important going on. Just listen a moment.”

The witches’ eyes continued to burn with accusation while Kayla explained what had happened with the impact of the moon on the wolves.

“Why should we care what happens to them?” Aunt Muriel said.

“Because we share this island,” Kayla replied. “And we need to work together to protect it and all on it. This feud has to end.”

“She’s right.” Mason approached them.

Kayla admired his bravery for stepping up to her mother and aunts when after all they’d blown him back with a spell the night before.

’“Without our joint magic,” he continued, “our land is suffering.”

“You lure the humans here with your—music.” Her mother spat the last word with contempt. “And you lure my daughter away from the safety of her coven.”

“I’m in love with Kayla. I’d do anything to protect her.”

Kayla’s heart swelled with pure happiness. He said he loved her. Even declared it before many others.

“We will not join with the gargoyles or wolves,” Aunt Muriel stated.

“You’ve tried to steal my daughter from me.” Her mother directed her wagging finger at Mason.

“I’m twenty-one,” Kayla interrupted. “You have to learn to let go of me, and let me make my own choices.”

“And you’d choose him?” Her mother’s eyes widened.

“Yes. I love him. With all my heart, I do.”

“Over your own kind?”

“You chose our kind. And look what it’s done to you.”

Her mother recoiled, pain flashing through her eyes before she recovered. “You’re my only child, Kayla. And I just wanted to protect you from any harm. From avoiding pain like I went through with your father.” Her mother’s voice hitched and her eyes glistened. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Kayla reached out and hugged her. As much as her mother drove her crazy with all her restrictions and even locking her up, she knew deep down it was out of love. “I know. You don’t have to worry so much. I’ll be okay.”

Her mother wiped her eyes and raised her chin. “He’s not like us. He sits in stone all day. What kind of life is that?”

“That’s how his clan protects the island,” Kayla explained in a softer tone. “Their magic is different than ours, they use their gifts to observe the land.” She took a deep breath and admitted her plan. “I came here to run away with him tonight, go somewhere where we wouldn’t be shunned.”

Mason gazed at her with wide-eyed wonder, his face stretching into a smile. “You did? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, Mason. I do love you. And I’ll go with you wherever we can be together.”

“And I, you.” He kissed her hand. “To the ends of the earth.”

“Oh,” her mother threw up her hands in exasperation before pointing to where the wolves had gathered. “And now I bet you want me to break bread with the wolves, too?”

* * * * *

Mason was relieved Kayla found a way back to him. Even his brothers were coming around to accepting her. Two of them, at least. After Kayla had helped heal Calum and Gavin, they had dropped some of their suspicions.

I agree with you, Calum had communicated as they’d cleared the devastation left by the wolves. She appears kind, wanting to help others. Perhaps not all witches are evil.

She’s not, Mason agreed.

It’s time to put the past behind us and move on, Calum added. All the other gargoyles in our clan have left the isle. I don’t want to lose you, too. You’re my brother, my best friend.

Does that mean you accept my decision to be with her?

It does, Calum had said. And I will help you however I can.

This means so much to me, brother.

All right. Gavin had stepped up and put his arms around Mason’s and Calum’s shoulders. I’m in.

Lachlan and Bryce had said nothing, keeping their distance from Kayla. Their silence had echoed their disapproval.

Now while Mason spoke with the witches, they glanced over with suspicion.

Mason caught movement from the wolves. The wolf shifter, Ian, approached them. At least he’d found a gray garment he had wrapped around his waist. Mason’s brothers circled in behind the wolf.

“I am Ian, alpha of the wolves,” Ian bowed respectfully as he introduced himself in a low tenor.

“What is the reason for this attack?” Lachlan demanded as he stepped forward.

“It’s a horrible incident. My deepest regrets,” Ian stated. “The moon’s presence is strong tonight and the youngest ones lost control.”

“Well, control them!” Bryce shouted.

“We’ve tried. We need your help.” Ian explained how the thinning of the magical cloak had also removed a barrier protecting the wolves from the moon. He gestured to the wolves and added how the witches’ potions had been useful in the past. “Now you see why we need to come together, the way our ancestors did many years ago.”

Mason stepped closer and asked the question that had never been thoroughly explained to him. “Why are we three divided?”

“What have you heard?”

“The witches cursed the gargoyles so they couldn’t reproduce and would die out.”

The witches protested.

Ian nodded their way. “And you?”

“The gargoyles attacked us because they’re bloodthirsty creatures,” one of Kayla’s aunts piped. “They have no moral compass.”

The wolf cocked his head as he appraised them both. “The truth lies in the space in between.”

Mason exchanged a glance with Kayla.

“The witches didn’t curse the gargoyles,” Kayla said with relief in her voice.

“It was one witch,” Ian added.

“What!” Kayla exclaimed.

The other witches again protested.

Ian raised a hand. When the dissent quieted, he explained, “An elder witch named Adair detested the gargoyles. She wanted to drive them off the Isle of Stone. She is the one behind the curse that did in fact afflict them, preventing them from reproducing.”

The witches had quieted and appeared deep in thought.

“A gargoyle discovered the reason and told the clan. However, the accusation against one witch escalated into blaming all of them. Their lust for revenge could be described as what the witches call bloodlust.”

“It’s a side that only comes out when defending ourselves and others,” Mason explained. “We are not monsters.”

The alpha nodded. “The hatred of one witch and miscommunication among the gargoyles escalated into a battle between their clans, one which lured the wolves to both sides. Many of our ancestors were killed and our lands have been splintered for generations.”

“How would a wolf know all this? How could you know both sides?” Lachlan asked.

“Both tried to recruit us to their cause.” Ian replied.

Bryce asked, “Why are you telling us all this?”

“Because it’s time we sit down and discuss a new peace,” Ian replied. “One in which we work together and share our gifts. It’s best for us all.”

Lachlan hymphed. “How do we know you’re not lying to us now for your own gain?”

“I’ll tell you straight out what I want.” Ian paced before them and gestured as he spoke. “I want our clans to drop the territorial divides and restore the magical veil. Given what happened here tonight, more humans will come to look into what happened, interfering with our way of life.”

Ian paused as if for emphasis and not a witch, wolf, or gargoyle uttered a word.

“I think we have much to share with each other, which would enrich all our lives,” Ian continued. “I want the wolves to be able to run free under the moon and not fear it. What I don’t want is this island overcome with humans attempting to change its future.”

Lachlan sent the gargoyles a telepathic message. We need to come to a consensus on this matter together. But first, we need to address the division in our clan.

When he paused, Mason inhaled sharply, waiting for his reply.

Mason, I accept your decision to join with the witch. We are brothers, the last remaining gargoyles on the Isle of Stone, and we must not let anything come between us.

Mason exhaled, the boulder in his chest rolling off him. I thank you, brother.

Regarding the wolf shifters, Lachlan continued. I see wisdom in what the alpha says. We need to work together.

Bryce added, Agreed. Let’s discuss this situation with the wolves on our own.

Lachlan addressed Ian. “My brothers and I will discuss this matter.”

The witches congregated out of earshot from the others, where Kayla appealed to her aunts. “We need to join together to protect the Isle of Stone. Stop it from being devastated by human development. You’ve seen what they’ve done to other parts of the earth.” She noted their expressions had softened, so she pressed her point. “The ancient prejudices are destroying any sort of future we can have here. Unless you’d prefer to let the island become a tourist attraction.”

Aunt Muriel’s eyes widened. “With chain hotels? And tacky tourist stores?”

“You know about such things?” Kayla asked with surprise. She thought her coven was so closed off from the rest of the world that they didn’t have a clue as to how it functioned. Yet her mother had traveled to Inverness when she was younger. Who knew what else she and her sisters had done in their youth?

“Aye, of course I do.” One corner of her mouth cracked with a wry smile. “I live on a rock, not under one.” She turned to Kayla’s mother. “We can’t let them build on the isle. Can you imagine all the technology they’d bring here? They’d kill all our ancient magic with their modern developments.”

“So you’re saying we should make peace with the gargoyles and wolves?” her mother asked.

“I think we have to. It’s the only way to keep the humans out.”

“Better them than the humans,” she agreed.

“We’d have to bring it to the elders,” Aunt Emma added, speaking for the first time.

The resolute tone in her voice made Kayla think Aunt Emma might have considered a reconciliation before now. Kayla couldn’t be the only one who questioned the split between the island’s inhabitants.

“Convince them it’s the best way,” Aunt Emma added.

“Maybe not the best way but a better alternative,” her mother said. She turned to Kayla. “I suppose it could be worse. You could have chosen a human and left the Isle of Stone. Gone off to live on the mainland in a city.”

“An apartment building.” Aunt Muriel cringed. “Can you imagine living in a box like that? Enclosed. Looking outdoors through closed windows?”

“Never,” her mother said. “If you want to be with the gargoyle—“

“Mason,” Kayla interrupted. “His name is Mason.”

“If you want to be with Mason,” her mother began again, “you have my blessing.”

“I do.” She turned to face Mason, who was discussing something with his brothers. “With all my being.”

* * * * *

Kayla bounded over to Mason and her heart fluttered, knowing he’d been waiting for her. She met him in the copse, their special spot, now infused with so many memories of their secret encounters.

After they embraced, she pulled back. “The elder witches have agreed to open discussion.” Her eyes sparkled. “Representatives from all three clans will meet at the ancient stones in the moors.”

“Yes. My eldest brothers, Lachlan and Bryce, are attending the peace talks.”

“Maybe they’ll even combine their magic to cloak the island.”

“They will if they want to keep this island out of human control. They know they don’t have much time.” He gazed at her with admiration. “If you weren’t brave enough to come to our shows, so much would be different now. Our island would have fallen into ruin.”

“I’m glad I did. Because it brought me to you.”

“I love you, Kayla. Everything about you.”

Her heart swelled at the words. She never knew it was possible to feel such joy, especially from a union that seemed doomed from the start. “And I love you.”

He cupped her face and planted a kiss on her lips. “I hope we have a child one day who is like you. Beautiful and brave.”

“You want to have a child with me?”

“More than one. In the future, of course.”

She pictured a young boy with Mason’s inquisitive green eyes. “Part-gargoyle and part witch. If we could even conceive together. They would be a new kind of being.”

“Spectacular,” he added.

“It would bring a new future to the island.”

Mason gave her a look with pure predatory lust. “I’m looking forward to the part where we conceive them.”

She couldn’t resist a coy smile in return. “Well then, we should get some practice before we’re ready, don’t you think?”

Mason took her in his strong embrace and kissed her, making her melt. He laid her on the groundcover beneath the trees. He made love to her slowly, at times clasping her hands and whispering he loved her. It was nothing like the frantic way their bodies had previously joined in their passion, yet it rocked her deeply to the core. His gentle caresses lit her body; his promises of love touched deep within her soul.

The sun rose anew the next morning, bathing the Isle of Stone in a harmonious light. Even more comforting was the warmth from Mason’s body as he spooned her in his arms. How she’d like to wake up entwined in his arms every morning.

She turned gently so as not to wake him and scanned his face. Smooth and peaceful, not signs of the worry that had been etched between his brows last night. What went on behind his closed eyes? Did gargoyles dream while in human form?

When his eyes fluttered open, he flashed a smile that warmed her heart. “Good morning.”

“Sleep well?” she asked.

“I did. And you?”

“Aye. Warm and protected all night. I liked sleeping in your arms.” She furrowed her brows. “Is it different, though, from when you’re in stone?”

“It is,” he said. “Just a different state.”

“Do you prefer one form over the other?”

He paused for a moment. “Difficult to say. They’re all me.” He picked up a lock of hair that had fallen over her face and tucked it behind her shoulder. “Last night, I had a dream of us. That’s not something I can do while in stone, which is how I usually sleep.”

“What was the dream?” she asked.

“You were with child.” He nodded. “Our child.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t muster any other words, so overcome with emotion.

“At first I wondered if being with someone who wasn’t a gargoyle would take away a part of me, make me more human. But the emotions that tugged at me when I dreamed of you and our child showed me it would only tap deeper into my gargoyle nature.”

“How so?”

“The drive to protect you was so strong I knew I would do anything to keep you both from harm.”

Tears of joy and gratitude pooled in her eyes. “Oh, Mason.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “I love you, so.”

“Aye. I love you, too.” He wiped a teardrop that slid down her cheek. “No tears, okay?”

She took a deep breath. “No tears.”

“You’ve distracted me from my ulterior motive.”

“Which is?”

He pulled her closer and his erection pressed against her thigh. “Convincing you to stay here a little longer.” After kissing her lips, he added, “What I was about to tell you was how I liked waking up and seeing you. Much better than seeing my brothers. Have you seen how ugly they are in stone?” He donned a serious expression before his mouth spread into a wide grin.

“I’ve seen you in stone, too.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

“Then I feel sorry for you,” he teased. “Falling for an ugly piece of rock.”

“I love you in every form.” She ran her fingers through his black hair. “But you’re much more enticing in the flesh.” She moved her hand down his back and over his buttocks. Moving to the front, she traced the contours of his smooth chest before moving down and stroking his stiff rod. “And parts of you are just as hard as when you’re stone.”

Mason rolled her onto her back and climbed on top of her, teasing her opening with his cock. “Want to feel just how hard you get me?”

Her body responded almost immediately. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. “Aye.”

Brushing his lips over her neck, he moved to her breasts, kissing them while he used his fingers to explore her wet folds. Then he moved his head down, down—she held her breath—wondering, waiting for more.

“You’ll have to wait.” His mouth was before her sex and his warm breath made her tingle. “Because I’m hungry for you.”

“Oh?” Her voice caught in her throat. She tilted her head back, barely catching the movement of fluttering leaves as her anticipation soared. She couldn’t wait much longer.

His hot mouth was on her and she forgot all else.

After they made love, they rolled onto their sides, facing each other as they caught their breath.

“I’d love to wake up this way every morning.”

Kayla would like nothing more, but there was still the question as to where they would go. Were they still leaving the Isle of Stone? “Where would we live?”

“Right here.”

“In the copse?”

“We could build a house in the trees.” Mason pointed to the green canopy above them. “And a platform for me to rest in stone.”

She smiled. “Symbolic, isn’t it?”

“How so?” He propped up on his forearm.

“A neutral area between the lands. Bridging them together.”

Mason pulled her close and gave her a deep, scorching kiss, one that left them both breathless. “The perfect spot, indeed.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lisa loves stories with dark, brooding heroes and spirited heroines. She is thrilled to be a multi-published, award-winning author since she’s wanted to write since the sixth grade. Her travels and many jobs have provided her with inspiration for novels, such as serving in the Marine Corps in Okinawa, Japan, backpacking alone around Europe, or working as a waitress in Paris. Her love of books inspired her to own a small independent book store for a couple of years.

Lisa lives in New England with her husband and their children. She spends her days writing for corporate clients and her evenings writing stories and novels.

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The Zrakon's Curse
by

Linda Barlow

Author's Note: The Scottish Shifters novels are about the Mallochs of Mallochbirn, a fictional location in the Highlands of Scotland. The books are related, but each romance is a standalone. They can be read in any order. The Zrakon's Bride, Ross's story, was the first to be published. This book, The Zrakon's Curse, is Colin's story.

For more information about these novels and all my other books, please check out my website at http://www.lindabarlow.com

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Highlands sea dragon shifter Colin Malloch's need for a mate draws a woman from another world into grave danger in Scotland. How can he keep her safe when his own brother demands her life?

Chapter 1

"Not much farther," Ariane said aloud above the sounds of the sea and the stroke of Rin's powerful tail as they sped through the water. "We're almost there, sweetie."

Rin didn't reply in words. He didn't have a huge vocabulary. But he sensed that she was upset, and he had been trying to soothe her. I catch fish? he asked. You like fish.

Ariane stroked his gnarly hide. She was seated on his shoulders, held in place by her knees gripping his sides and by two of his smaller tentacles. They were traveling on the surface. This was not the most comfortable way for Rin to swim. He could move much faster underwater, with her held tight against his chest and belly breathing through the air valve on his breast. But the slower pace meant she could spend more time with him. And she loved watching the blue swells of the sea, stretching in all directions.

She should go down under the water, though. Even though the sky was cloudy, she could feel the heat of the sun. Her bronze skin could withstand a lot of sunshine, but it would not do to get painfully burned.

It was her last voyage with Rin.

And she was breaking the Mother only knew how many rules.

When she got home, she would be reprimanded. Punished. She might be forbidden to leave the island for months. Or even kicked out of the Travelers Guild altogether.

But this was right for Rin. Usually when a sea dragon was retired from Traveler service, he or she would simply be released into the wild. But Ariane was taking Rin to the island where Liril, her former teacher, lived with a colony of sea dragons. Several of them were Rin's siblings and cousins, and he wanted to be with them once again.

The only trouble was, Liril had been expelled from the Travelers Guild, and Ariane wasn't supposed to have any further contact with her.

Still, she didn't think they would dismiss her for this infraction. She was a strong Traveler. There weren't many in the Guild who could tame and master both a sea dragon and a mammoth eagle, two of her world's most vicious and powerful predators.

Anyway, Liril's expulsion from the Guild was ridiculous. Her teacher had done nothing wrong. She had dearly loved the sea dragons entrusted to her care. Ariane couldn't think of any place where Rin would be happier than back with her old instructor, who had helped train him.

She and Rin were traveling northwest, which was somewhat dangerous. No one really knew how far the western sea stretched. There had been a few intrepid voyagers who had supposedly reached the Farthest Lands. It had been her dream ever since childhood to be one of the explorers who got that far. But right now, they were headed toward a much closer spot.

"Do you see any sign of land yet, Rin?"

No land, Rin confirmed after lifting his head to take a look around them. Me not want find land, Ari.

"Oh, baby, I know." Finding the island meant they would soon be separated. She didn't want that any more than Rin did. They had been paired for two years, and their bond was a close one.

Ariane felt the pull of Rin's consciousness. She allowed herself to sink into full awareness of the bond. Seeing through his eyes was like rushing headlong through a tunnel and popping out in a place where the world looked entirely different. Colors were more vibrant, and when they were underwater, she could see fine shadings of blues, purples, pale greens and even a touch of maroon.

All her senses were dramatically improved when she sank deeply into her companion's mind. She noticed an odd smell. Rin’s olfactory sense was more powerful than her human nose. He recognized many scents that were unknown to her, but this one puzzled him. It smelled dark, smoky and unpleasant. He came alert and his hunger for prey surged.

She dragged her consciousness back a bit from the bond. Controlling the Traveler's bond could be tricky, even for a Master Traveler with many years of experience. A sea dragon was one of the most difficult animals to master. Because they were huge, fierce, and dominant over other creatures, they resisted training. No creature, human or beast, likes to be taken by the mind of another.

Sea dragons were notorious for their ability to wrest control from their human partners. Even when the bond between the person and the beast was of long duration, the partnership required careful monitoring. Ariane loved Rin the way she loved the ocean. Caution and respect were a necessary part of that love.

She heard a strange sound—a wavering high-pitched shriek that was unlike anything she had ever heard before. It frightened and angered Rin so much that his emotions spilled over to Ariane. She could feel the rage clenching inside him.

Something alien was coming up behind them. It was full of blood, flesh and nastiness. She flung a glance over her shoulder. A huge, black flying creature was diving through the air toward them. Rin swerved so sharply that, were it not for the tentacles that held her, she might have been flung into the sea.

With cold horror, she realized what it was. What it had to be. She had never seen one before, but she had heard of them. This screeching, flying thing was a darkling. They were Death to most creatures.

Darklings preyed on the blood of the living. They drove into you with their claws and their fangs and sucked away your life force until you weakened and died. No one knew where they came from or how they perpetuated their race. Some said they mated like other creatures, but others claimed they were too icy and wraithlike to have such physicality. But they could stop your blood from moving through your veins. They could freeze your heart.

Their own hearts, if they had such organs, were so sluggish that it was difficult to discern a beat. And yet, they lived.

She knew also that there had been more of these creatures recently. More sightings. More reports of darkling attacks. Rumors that she hoped were untrue of people being changed into darkling demons or sucked down to Karthenhal where, many believed, darklings originated. Ariane usually dismissed such folktales, but there was no doubt that a darkling was pursuing them now at a speed that would bring it upon them quickly. She didn't know how Rin would fare in a darkling fight. Sea dragons were hard to kill, but she didn't want to imperil Rin.

"Rin! Take me into the water so I can breathe with you. We are going to have to dive."

But Rin's battle instincts had been aroused.

I kill.

She looked again over her shoulder. The thing was inky black and its face, if it had a face, was obscured by something that resembled a hollow hood. The eyes were hidden. Even so, she could feel them piercing her with a dark cold energy that made it hard for her lungs to expand. The darkling had huge and muscular wings, but it seemed to glide rather than use them for propulsion. Its speed was more constant now. It was no longer gaining. And yet it looked intent and relaxed, as if it knew it could close on them at any moment.

On instinct, she ordered Rin to change his course again. The speed of the darkling increased and it veered toward them. If they continued on the new course, it would intercept them more quickly. She readjusted their direction and the creature fell back.

It was herding them. But toward what?

"It wants something. I don't like this. It's driving us forward toward a point. Maybe toward others of its kind."

We stop, Ari? I can kill.

She wished she could be certain of that. She could smell blood and fire and hear the screams of a predator. It dived toward them again and got close. She saw talons with sharp, ragged claws.

"Rin. Take me into the water. We have to dive. Now. Now!"

He complied. One of his large pectoral tentacles curled up and wrapped around her body in a move they had practiced many times before. She inhaled deeply, preparing herself for the cold as his great tentacle arm lifted her off his shoulders and plunged her into the water by his side. He swept her beneath his massive body to the point on his chest where his other pectoral tentacles could lace around her and pull her tight against his soft underside.

Her mouth sought the breathing bud that conveyed air directly from his large bladder-like lungs. Like a baby fastening tightly to the breast of its mother, Ariane clamped her lips around the bud and sucked in air. Rin only needed to breathe once an hour; he could go even longer than that on his reserves. He rose to the surface like a whale to breathe, but until he needed to do that, they could travel underwater. The darkling could fly but it could not swim. She hoped. Once they were beneath the surface, they would be safe.

But even through the rushing water, she heard the creature's bloodcurdling scream. Just as Rin was beginning his dive, the darkling's talons raked into his hide, tearing scales away and opening wounds. Through the bond, Ariane could feel the intense pain and shock. Rin was enraged as he turned to fight the thing that had dared attack the proudest of all sea creatures. If he'd still retained his ancient dragon fire and wings, he could have risen into the air, torn the creature from the skies, blasted it with his breath, and roasted it to a crisp.

"Dive! Dive! Rin you must dive!"

Battling the darkling would not be smart. It was a whole lot bigger and more powerful than any darkling she had ever heard about. It was a monster darkling and Rin was already wounded. She could not permit him to risk further injury.

Rin resisted her control, which was unusual. He was maddened by the attack. When she finally got him diving, she had to control that too. She was human; she could not dive too deep and survive.

"Steady Rin. Steady. We're deep enough, I think. Level off here and swim. We need to lose it so we can find a safe place to tend to your wounds."

He plunged ahead through the dark water, crazed with pain and lust and confusion. Everything seemed to be growing dark. How badly hurt was he? Was he losing consciousness?

There was a bright flash. She and Rin were knocked sideways. The next thing she felt was a sensation of spinning, as if she were falling from a great height. Or rising? She couldn't tell up from down.

No longer did she see the wavy seascape of the world beneath the sea, but land where no land should be. Dark hills, rocky crags, mountains. Then the mountains somersaulted before her eyes, and the sea, the very cold and bitter sea, rushed up to swallow her, and she knew no more.

When Ariane awakened, her entire body was wracked with pain. But even worse, she was alone. The bond between her and Rin was broken. She was no longer linked with her companion's mind, and she could not feel him anywhere.

Oh Goddess! Nausea gripped her. She knew as well as anyone that the Traveler’s Bond could not be suddenly severed without harming both partners.

She rolled to the side to vomit. She opened her eyes, searching for Rin. She was lying on a stony desolate shore. But she couldn't see her companion anywhere.

Chapter 2

"Aye lass, you're getting it," Colin Malloch said. "A little harder now. Not so bloody delicate. You're not applying paint to canvas, now, are you, babe?"

The lovely naked woman leaning over him with her hand on his cock gave her usual merry laugh.

"Shut your trap, you great joker, before I give this fellow a wrench he'll never forget."

"C'mere," Colin said, laughing and pulling her down on him. "I need to be in you, you bloody witch."

Evie came willingly, fitting her body to his with the ease and familiarity of old friends. They were that, Colin reflected, as he thrust deep into her, holding her ass down hard so he could writhe against her pelvis and stimulate her clit. With his other hand, he fisted her hair and jerked her head back so her neck was exposed to him. He nipped her throat, then pressed his mouth to hers and delved deep with his tongue. She moaned and rocked her hips as she met every thrust of cock and tongue with equal passion and enthusiasm.

He and Evie had known each other from childhood. The shagging was recent though.

He'd come home to Mallochbirn a couple of months ago for his brother's wedding. And a fine time it had been. They'd all been there in the kirk, dressed formally in their kilts and knee-high stockings, glad for his brother and his bonnie bride Kate, the only woman who had ever been able to tame the ferocious Zrakon that was his eldest brother's other self.

The whole village had turned out for the wedding festivities, the hand fasting first as their wrists were bound together by the traditional Malloch ribbon, and then the church wedding and the feasting. It went on for three days. High spirits and the best local whiskey, Highland games and jesting and an insane amount of drinking.

People said it was the best wedding in memory, fun and good fellowship, laughter and a great deal of fucking. The whole family was there, including Ross's twin, Cameron, his younger brother Jack and their sister Penny. Their mother, Deirdre, and everybody's friends. A bloody good time had been shared by all.

He and Evie had hooked up during the first night of fun and renewed their old school fellowship in a pile of fresh cut hay. It was friends they were really, not lovers, despite the pleasure they took in each other's bodies. Evie was a wolf shifter and she'd made it clear she wouldn't be tied down to anyone except her one true mate. She and Colin both knew that this wasn't what they were to one another.

He enjoyed the occasional shag with her, though. Since they were both shifters, they could get a little wild together. You had to be strong and hardy to take the rough fucking that a Highlands wolf shifter enjoyed. Even though wolf shifter didn't exactly explain what Colin was.

He could do a wolf though, like all his family members. His wolf had been his favorite form to shift to until he had learned to summon his dragon.

After all the wedding guests had left, Colin had stayed to spend some time with Ross and Kate, who was expecting a baby, but he'd never been able to linger in one place for long. He'd traveled the world restlessly for years, from Europe to the Caribbean to China to Southeast Asia and Africa. He'd hiked the length of the Great Wall in China, ridden the trans-Siberian railway, worked on an archeological dig in central Turkey, and an AIDS non-profit in Botswana. He'd acquired friends in countries all over the world.

"So how long you gonna be around this time?" Evie asked when they were done fucking. She was still licking his chest, though, and playing lightly with his nipples...almost enough to get him hard again.

"Don't know," he admitted. "But the seaways and the skyways are always calling my ass."

Evie slapped his wayward ass. He rolled her over and returned the favor until she squealed. The truth was, he no longer had to fly halfway around the world to find unexplored territory. Now that he had mastered shifting to his zrakon, or sea dragon form, Mallochbirn was proving to be an excellent base camp for his explorations. As a Malloch of Mallochbirn in northwest Scotland, Colin knew a secret that few people alive knew—Mallochbirn guarded the Barrier. Also known as the Rift between the Worlds.

He was lying in Evie's bed, letting his mind drift, seeing images in his mind that were otherworldly. Literally. Dunya. The world on the other side of the gateway between the two worlds. That strange new world was calling to him more insistently than ever these days.

Suddenly he gave a convulsive jolt. A gong sounded in his soul, raising tiny hairs on his body and making the bottom fall out of his belly. He strained to see, to hear, to know.

"What the fuck? What's wrong, Col?"

He shook his head slowly. His brown hair, overlong and badly needing a cut, flopped over his forehead.

"You came over all cold." Evie sounded shaken. "Your aura changed, like some kind of shadow moving over you. Is it your magic?"

"I reckon so," he said, not really sure what the fuck it was. "Did you feel anything?" All shifters had some vestiges of magic, although no one else around this part of Scotland had the ancient magical power of the Malloch family, who had ruled nearby Mallochbirn as lairds for too many generations to count.

"Whatever it is, I didn't sense it, no. I'm just reacting to you."

Although he wasn't sure, Colin suspected that what he had felt was a violation of the Barrier. An incursion? He was much more attuned to the Barrier recently, probably because he had been violating it himself. Something had either gone out of this world or, more likely, come into it. And if that was the case, there would be hell to pay.

He had never felt anything so intense, though. If it had just been a random fish or something small, he didn't think it would have reverberated so strongly inside him.

"I'd better check with my brother." Although Evie protested when he rose from her bed, she didn't make too great a fuss. As a shifter, she knew the dangers. Well, some of them, at least.

Colin rose and donned his kilt—he often wore the old garment, which he found more comfortable than trousers—and his other clothing. He dug his phone out of his jacket and called Ross.

He could only assume that Ross, who was laird of Mallochbirn and official guardian of the Barrier, would have felt the quiver in the walls of reality even more intensely than he had.

"Aye," Ross said. "Felt something. You wanna check or shall I?"

"I'll go," Colin offered.

"Ta. I'll let Cam know."

Colin would have liked to ask him to leave Cam, Ross's twin, out of it. He and Cam had been butting heads again, as usual. But Cam was the head of the Council of Protectors, and if there really was an incursion, he would have to know.

"If it's a zrakon, it might be a female. Good that you're going. I don't think my wife would sanction me checking her out."

Colin grinned. He approved of Kate, who wasn't likely to feel threatened by a female sea dragon. She handled his elder brother better than anybody else ever had.

"If there is something, try to lure it back here. Maybe we can figure out a way to send it home. The Rift has been unstable lately. I hate to think what else has been coming through."

"Or going in the other direction."

"You're right. That would be bad, too."

The other world was technologically similar to the Middle Ages. Or maybe the Renaissance. Their greatest fear was that highly advanced weaponry might make it through.

"Be careful, Colin," Ross added. "Cloak yourself as well as you can. There've been all kinds of advances in underwater detection and surveillance, and it's possible some ords are heading toward the scene." Ord was shifters' parlance for ordinary people, people who didn't shape shift. In this case, Colin knew it meant cops and military types, who were always on the watch for refugees, smugglers, and even terrorists who might try to sneak ashore in the Scottish Highlands.

Even worse, although Ross might not agree, were Cam's watchdogs—elite shifters, usually wolves. Those guys seemed to think the Barrier needed more guarding than Mallochbirn had always provided. Colin loved his brother, but he didn't trust him. Lately Cam had seemed rabid about security. If such a controlled and disciplined bastard could ever be called rabid.

Ten minutes later, in the darkness of a clear but moonless Highland night, Colin stood naked on the headland half a mile from Evie's cottage. As a precaution, he kept himself cloaked as he reached inside and woke his sleeping dragon. The agony came as it always did when the change began. His entire body stiffened and screamed with it as his bones cracked and his flesh was painfully molded into another, much larger and formidable form.

It used to be difficult for him to change to a sea dragon. For years, he'd believed he would never be able to do it. Most of their kind weren't multiform shifters, anyway. Jack, his younger brother, had only one form—a wolf. Cam could do a wolf and some kind of predatory bird, although he almost never shifted to the latter; he was damn secretive about it, as a matter of fact. Ross, the head of the family, had the Zrakon as his second self. But Ross could shift to a dozen other creatures as well, which Colin envied and thought wondrous. Ross didn't use his gift often, as far as Colin could tell. He was enamored of his new wife, excited about his coming bairn, and content, or so he claimed with staying as human as possible.

Colin wanted to experience everything. He'd pestered Ross to teach him how to shift to a sea dragon, and Ross, unsure himself how he did it, tried his best to impart his limited knowledge.

"He just bursts out of me," his brother had explained. "Rising up from that dark place deep inside. You know it—you must. It's where your wolf comes from."

"When I open myself to that place, it's my wolf that comes, every time."

"Then maybe you have to poke around down there until you find your zrakon. If you have one. You might not."

Colin wasn't sure why he believed he had a sea dragon, but the feeling was strong. So he poked around. If the creature was hiding in some dark corner, he figured he'd find him someday.

And he did. He was twenty-four before he felt the sea dragon's breath and nearly twenty-six before he'd been able to coax the creature out of hiding. Colin's dragon was a much shyer fellow than Ross's roaring, melodrama-loving Zrakon.

Legend claimed that there had been sea dragons in Earth's primitive past, although no such beasties had ever turned up in the fossil records. Whatever they were, they were magnificent. He stood tall, his huge haunches poised, muscles rippling,  his shoulders twitching as he automatically extended the poor vestiges of bone and flesh, withered now, that had once been a set of magnificent wings. The dragons of legend who had once ruled the skies, spouting fires on their enemies, had been cursed and confined to the seas. No one knew exactly why. Or when. Or if they would ever be permitted to return from their watery exile and fly again.

The wings served now to make his form perfect as he extended them to their puny length and dived gracefully into the cold northern sea.

Chapter 3

For the first time in her life, Ariane didn't know where she was.

The sky was wrong. The night was clear and the velvet darkness of the vault arching overhead was alight with stars. But they were the wrong stars.

Not wholly wrong, just a little shifted. As if she were viewing them through wavy glass. Their configurations were recognizable, yet altered. The angles were different. Someone who didn't watch the sky as much as she did might not notice. The stars did change, after all, depending on the time of day and the season. And one's location, of course. You could see different stars when you went far enough north or far enough south. She had been Traveling northwest with Rin. But not so far from home that the stars would be significantly altered.

The last thing she remembered, she had been clasped against the comfortable form of her companion. Breathing, as always, through the appendage on his breast. Fleeing the darkling that had wounded him.

Then something had happened. Something dark and terrifying.

It had felt as though she'd been sucked in by a giant mouth, and dragged right out of the world. It had been jarring, disorienting and sick-making, as she and her companion were trapped in a whirlpool and swept away.

She had been torn away from Rin while still under the sea. That should have caused her to drown, but she didn't remember the sensations of drowning. And now she was lying on her back on a strand, soaking wet and cold, but alive.

She should get up. Stand. Walk. Try to get warm. It would not do to take sick, wherever she was. She needed to find Rin. She hoped he was safe, and that the mysterious tumult that had tossed her up out of the sea and beached her here hadn't injured him.

If she had reached land, it must surely be Arralon. One of its western isles, of which there were many.

She lay for a few more moments looking upward, trying to solve the mystery of the sky. And then she saw something that made her jolt upright. Lights in the sky, high above, moving and leaving a visible trail. Not a shooting star. The movement was steady and constant—the trajectory a distinct line moving across the sky. She wasn't completely clear about compass directions, but if that dim star was the Fixed Foot, then the moving light was traveling west.

But there was nothing to the west. Nothing except the Farthest Lands, and they were an unimaginable distance away. There was just the sea, fathomless, changeless.

She noticed something else that was strange. A dull droning sound, also coming from the sky.

Where in the name of Karth was she?

The stars were wrong and there were impossible objects in the sky.

There was a possible explanation. It seemed unlikely, and yet...everything about this experience was unlikely. It was known that the mystical vortex called the Abyss was located somewhere out in the western sea. She had been headed roughly in that direction. If the lore was true, the Abyss was the gateway to the world known as Gaia. A place that was as strange and violent as anything in her own world, but also full of wondrous and almost incomprehensible magic.

Ariane had a curious soul. From the moment she had first heard rumors about Gaia, she had haunted the libraries in every city she visited, devouring anything she could find in the scrolls that hinted about this other world.

There wasn't much. Scholars speculated that it was a world much like her own with people who looked and acted human and many of the same creatures. It was even said that the lands, people, and languages mirrored those in her own world. Twin worlds, but not identical twins.

Was she in Gaia?

And where was Rin?

She tried again to feel him in her mind. Even if he was a good distance away, their strong empathic link usually held. She was so accustomed to being able to reach him mentally that it was another shock to her system when her cry to him went unanswered.

Was he dead? Had the darkling killed him?

She attempted to open a link with Rin, but despite shooting desperate threads out in every direction, there was no response, no linkage. Rin was gone.

It's my fault. She had wanted to take Rin to Liril, instead of following the usual Traveler protocols. Now her sea dragon was suffering because she had defied her superiors. He might already be dead.

Her heart ached and her throat felt thick. She curled up in a ball and forced herself to concentrate. Let the pain go. Let the guilt go. Let fear go. Let everything go except the Bond.

The golden thread that she envisioned to link her with her companion stopped flailing around. It poised for a moment, then shot out. Rin? She felt the joining. It rocked through her, filling her mind with light.

"Rin!"

The connection wavered. Through the link, she heard a howl. It was coming from deep beneath the sea.

Rin! Rin was out there. But he didn't sound like himself. His pain thundered through her. Agony. "Oh Rin, my dear. I'm so sorry."

Ari?

She felt something she had never sensed from a sea dragon before—fear. Sea dragons had no fear. They were the largest predators of the deep. They had no rivals. They were bigger, stronger, and more intelligent than any other ocean-going creature.

Travelers weren't afraid of much either. When you could command the fiercest creatures of land, sea and sky, what was there to fear? Only humans were more dangerous than the creatures she controlled. But it was a rare human who would go up against a Traveler. Respect for her kind was almost universal. No one would venture to harm a Traveler.

She forced her brain to focus. Whatever was out there, she had to help Rin.

"Rin? Can you hear me?" She didn't call him in words. Not exactly. It was more images and feelings.

She was still having trouble reaching him. It must be because he was injured. Whatever had happened, whatever had disrupted their bond and cast her up on the shore, it must have done something to harm Rin. Magic of some sort?

Concentrate.

"Rin? I'm here. Feel me, baby. Tell me what's happening, if you can."

Bad. Something bad. Hurts. Something hurt me.

"Is it still hurting you? Still chasing you? Can you dive? Can you get away?"

It gone. Won't leave you. You asleep. You not breathe.

"I must have fallen unconscious, but I'm awake now and breathing. I am on land. Did you bring me ashore?"

I try. Take you to land. Lift you. Afraid for you. Not breathing.

"I'm breathing now. I'm fine."

The bad thing wanted hurt you. Darkling. Wanted stop me find you. But I chase it away.

"Good Rin. Thank you. Thank you so much."

He groaned. Pain flashed through him. She felt her body curl up as the agony reverberated in her. She began to tremble. She didn't understand this. What could hurt a sea dragon? They were the kings of the deep.

She felt their bond begin to fade. She was losing him. "Rin!"

Love you, Ari. Love. You.

"No! Rin, please! Stay strong. Stay strong for me."

I try.

"Rin. Listen to me. Go back thru the Abyss and continue on the way we were headed. If you can get to Liril, she will tend to you. It's not far from where we were, baby. Liril will make you better."

Her heart was breaking as she ordered him to do this, because without Rin how would she manage? A Traveler and her animal companion should not be separated. Without Rin, how would she get home?

"Baby?"

She felt him still, but he wasn't able to form coherent thoughts. He was hurt. Was he dying? What if he couldn't make it to Liril?

"Rin?" Her cheeks felt cold, and she realized it must be because she was crying. The wind was chilling her warm tears to cold streams as they rolled incessantly down her cheeks.

Ari, I no leave you.

"You must! Go, please! Go and get better. When you're well, you can come find me again."

No, Ari. No.

"My dear, we were about to be separated anyway. You have your own life to live now. You have served me so well for so long. Now you must be with others of your kind."

You come too, Ari. We find way back.

But she sensed he was too badly injured to carry her weight as he swam. It took a sea dragon a great deal of energy to breathe for two, which was one reason why they had to be young and strong. Besides, another attempt to traverse the maelstrom of the Abyss would probably tear them apart anyway.

No. It was hard, but she had to do it. Rin would die if he did not find help quickly.

She was dominant over Rin. It was how a Traveler survived with powerful predators. She controlled his mind and his actions. Usually she did not exercise this power, because she and Rin had grown close. Usually they worked as a team. Not now, though. Now she had to make him go back, make him get better, save his life.

"Rin. I command you! Go through the Abyss, if you can. Get help! Do you hear me, my sweet boy? You must obey."

She heard him cry out and she felt his unusually powerful resistance. She pressed on his mind. She forced him to bow to her will even as the tears were streaming down her cheeks.

And she felt him go. It was a horrific jolt to her mind as he slipped away and their bond shattered. For a moment, she thought she would be sucked away with him. Their minds and hearts were linked. Were their souls linked too? Wherever he was going, she would follow.

But no. She was here. Intact. Alone. Rin was gone.

She wept.

Chapter 4

Colin didn't find a sea dragon, but there had clearly been one in the waters around Mallochbirn this evening. It had left the musk of its passing, a scent that no other creature could mistake. A male. But there was another scent that lingered in the sea, even as the tides dissipated it—the scent of a female.

As he examined the female's scent, something jolted him. Not physically. His body flashed hot in a manner that he had never experienced before. At the same moment, he felt a powerful foreboding. It was as if a darkness had enveloped the sea, even though his perception of the dim light around him was unchanged.

The sea dragon had not come through alone. But the female with him was not another zrakon. She was human.

Was that even possible? The Barrier was fairly deep underwater. A swimmer on the surface wouldn't be able to access it. And a diver would have to know exactly where to dive, especially on the far side where the Rift was far from any land mass.

Had the female been a Traveler?

Colin knew of them, although he had never seen or met one. They were the main message carriers and diplomats in the parallel world. They possessed the ability to meld their minds with sea dragons and other giant predators. They could order them to take them to wherever they wished to go.

That is, if the stories were true.

Had a Traveler come through the Barrier? Why? To explore? To spy? Fancy that. He penetrated the Barrier in the other direction to explore, so why shouldn't people from Dunya do the same?

Even so, Colin knew this sort of incursion could not be permitted. As a Malloch of Mallochbirn, he shared a responsibility to guard the Barrier. If something came through, he would have to find it and send it back. Or kill it.

That was the risk of crossing between the two worlds. If he were ever caught, he would expect nothing less.

Colin knew where the Rift was located, but few others did. He might never have found the entrance to the Rift if Ross—the Zrakon—hadn't shown him. As for how Ross had known, he'd told Colin it was instinctive. Something to do with bearing the responsibility for the Barrier on his shoulders. Nobody knew where this ancient duty derived from, although Kate, Ross's wife, had been researching it. There was a lot they still didn't understand.

The scent left by the creature led Colin to a rocky stretch of shoreline a few miles north of Mallochbirn. The sea was deep here, but a sea dragon with a woman for his partner would have to stay on or near the surface.

Such a pair should not be in this world. In their own world, sea dragons still lived and ruled the seas. But here it was a very different story. The seas had been claimed by modern commercial and military shipping. Fortunately, the stable part of Rift was located deep in an underwater cavern where nothing like a nuclear submarine was likely to penetrate. Colin shuddered at the thought of advanced technology falling into a world that was still stuck in the Dark Ages.

Carefully, he surfaced and looked around. In this day of miniature drones and ubiquitous CCTV, you never knew who might be spying on you. So he swam cloaked, which gave him protection from everything but the most sophisticated detection methods.

Mallochbirn was a few miles to the south, and the area was sparsely populated. There was no moon. The stars were bright, but nowhere near as brilliant as they were in the other world, which was still unclouded by industrial air pollution.

On the surface, he sensed something else. Something dark, foul, and evil. He knew that scent signature, too. Vampire? Had the Traveler popped into this world only to be seen and attacked by a vampire? Fuck. As if things weren't complicated enough.

A few more meters and he was swimming in blood. It was not what a human would imagine as swimming in blood; the sea had not turned red, but all his chemical receptors could sniff out the molecules that had been loosed into the water but a short time ago. He wasn't the only one who smelled it, either. Fish of all types were already moving into the area. Something or someone was either bleeding or dead.

He dived. He was almost afraid of what he might find—a magnificent but dead creature who was not of this world. His great sea dragon heart pounded at the thought of seeing a zrakon dead on the bottom, torn apart by sharks. But he found nothing in the depths except the scent of more blood.

This site was close to the Barrier. Had the creature slipped back into the other world? Had he taken the Traveler with him? Was she still alive? He thought so. Her scent was still strong in this world.

Her body was not here, and Colin did not smell her blood.

He wondered about her. She wouldn't be like him—a human/sea dragon shifter. In Dunya, sea dragons weren't shifters; in fact, as far as he knew, there were no shifters there, although he reminded himself that shifters didn't exactly make themselves obvious. They were in the closet here on Earth, too.

Did she know what had happened to her animal companion? What would she do now? How could she get back to the Barrier and back to her own world if her sea dragon was dead? Surely, she could not swim back through the Barrier, which was deep underwater, alone.

He scanned the shore, looking for the girl. If his perceptions were accurate, she had to be nearby.

Chapter 5

Ariane had to find shelter. At least until she could gain some information about this place.

She had always liked to think of herself as resourceful. Travelers were taught to survive. Living through a calamity and getting back to Zanovar with her report were fundamental to her training. But she had always imagined that she would be with her animal companion, and that any scrape they got into they would escape together. It was unnerving to be lost in a strange world alone.

At least, she hoped she was alone. She hoped the darkling hadn't entered this world with them.

She remembered the odd feeling that she and Rin were being herded. Had she been driven toward the gateway? Had he intended her to fall into this world?

From what she could see around her in the dark, this land seemed beautiful, if a trifle stark with its dry grasses and stony mountains. There weren't many trees in the area, but there was plenty of scrub. There were rocks and hills, some even high enough to be called small mountains, not unlike the geographical features of Arralon.

It was cool here, too. Nothing like the hot clime of Zanovar. She would need warmer clothes. Food and water. A place to sleep. Her supply pack, which was waterproof, had contained fresh clothing and other items she would need in an emergency, but it had been torn away.

Once she met with other people, she would need currency. She would have to learn their language. Her facility with language had been one of the things that had helped her during her training as a Traveler. She had a good ear and the ability to make any sound. But even if she learned fast, she would initially be unable to communicate. And that would make her suspicious.

Oh Mother. The tasks ahead of her seemed impossible.

There was a hill rising away from the shoreline not far to her right. It marked one cusp of the small crescent bay. If she climbed up there, she would be able to see what lay to the south. It looked high enough to give her a good view. The night was dark but not black. The sky was cloudless and the air seemed fresh and sweet. The sea had that briny smell that she loved and the breeze wafting over the hills conveyed the scents of plants and wildflowers.

She hoped it wouldn't be far to the nearest village or town. There were many dangers in mixing with the local folk, but she would not be able to survive alone for long unless she found a source of food and water.

The climb to the top of the headland required more energy than she had expected. But what she saw in the distance down the coast reassured her. There was a fortress built on a small island just offshore. It appeared to be made of stone, and it had towers and battlements.

Near it, on the surrounding land, she saw evidence of habitation. There were houses and other buildings. She could dimly see lights. She also saw rectangles that denoted cultivated fields. Farms. There would be food, animals, people.

She hoped they wouldn't be hostile to strangers.

* * *

Colin was swimming at the surface, still keeping careful watch for anyone who might be watching him. He was headed back down toward Mallochbirn when he passed a bend in the coastline. He saw something. Someone. On the headland. A woman. She was turned partly away, gazing up at the sky. He did not think she would be able to see him, even if she looked directly at him, because of his low profile in the water.

It was the Traveler. He knew instantly from the way his blood leapt in his veins.

He reminded himself that in fact he didn't know this was a Traveler. She could be anything. There were many beasts and monsters capable of assuming human form. Here in Scotland, the range of supernatural creatures was broad.

Still. He felt sure she was the Traveler.

Her clothing appeared to be shiny and wet, clinging to her lithe body. At first, he'd thought she was naked because it was molded to her form. Her hair, which bound in a braid that fell all the way to her waist, was a soft, shining metallic color. Not silver, but pale gold. She was young. At least, her body looked young. She had a subtle glow that had made her visible to him at a distance at which he oughtn't to be able to see her.

What the fuck?

Maybe he was imagining things. She couldn't be glowing. He was probably just a little starry-eyed with his own excitement. This slender nymph standing high on the Scottish coast was not from this world. He almost wished he had not found her, because he had a bad feeling about this. If he could find her, his brothers would also be able to do so. Cameron and his wolves would sniff her out, hunt her down, capture her.

She was an incursion.

She was lovely.

But what was she doing here?

When they caught her, they might have to kill her.

Chapter 6

Once she had scrambled down from the headland, Ariane kept to the shadows. She was hiking along the shoreline in the direction of that castle or keep. She had puzzled over its appearance, because everything she'd read about the world called Gaia suggested that it was a more advanced culture than her own. She would have expected them to build with newer materials and in a different style. Yet the structure on the spit of cliff jutting out into the sea looked like a fortress from her world.

She felt safer down beside the water, even though the coastline was rocky and difficult to negotiate. She didn't want to get too far from the sea, in case Rin came back for her.

Stop that. He's injured, maybe dying. He can't come back for you.

She heard something approaching long before she understood what was happening. A distant droning that she could not identify. As she withdrew into the shelter of a large boulder, the sound resolved into a rhythmic whop-whop. Then she saw a dark shape in the sky. The darkling? She cowered behind the wet rock. Would it be able to see or smell her?

But no, it wasn't a darkling. The sound was mechanical. As she stared out to sea, she saw the shape more clearly. It hung suspended in the sky, flying without flapping any wings. It moved along the shoreline, heading in the same direction she was moving, but much more rapidly.

What in Karth's name?

Whatever the thing was, it was not alive. There might be people inside it, though. Sweet Mother, guide me, she prayed silently. Her scant knowledge of Gaia did not run to flying boats. If people could take to the air in machines here, they wouldn't have much use for a Traveler of Zanovar.

When the flying thing disappeared in the distance, Ariane ventured out from behind her rock. She was shivering. She needed shelter from the chilly wind. She had to get to that village. Even if she couldn't find anybody willing to help her, she hoped she could at least steal some food, water, and suitable attire.

She knew how to do this, she reminded herself.

Somehow or other, she would manage.

.

* * *

Colin was pondering what to do when he heard the helicopter.

Damn Cam. Bringing out the heavy artillery. Colin had expected him to send his wolves.

He wasn't sure what the fuck was going on with Cam. Lately his older brother had been more difficult than ever. Even at Ross's wedding, when everyone else had been having a fine time, Cam had seemed brusque and preoccupied. Ross had hinted that his twin had had some sort of unhappy love affair, but Colin didn't believe it for a moment. The prick was incapable of falling in love.

He knew his brother had a tough and important job. As head of the Council, it was Cam who was ultimately responsible for patrolling the Barrier. If there were incursions, Cam was usually the one who tracked them down and dealt with them. By whatever method he saw fit.

It wasn't the woman that the helicopter was after, Colin realized as he watched them searching offshore. They were looking for the creature. They probably didn't know yet that the sea dragon had brought a human through.

Traveler or no, this girl was in need of assistance. She must be freezing. Her beautiful long hair was shiny with wetness from the cold sea. That garment she was wearing might help her retain some of her body heat, but not indefinitely.

She would also have to be questioned. If he could snatch her, Cam would carry her off to his compound of horrors and do it there. He'd seen his brother conduct an interrogation once. Colin had a strong stomach, but it wasn't something he wanted to observe again.

No, now that the posse had arrived, there was only one solution. He had to take her back to Mallochbirn. As laird of the region and head of the Malloch clan, Ross could overrule Cam. And Ross had a heart where his ruthless younger twin had naught but an icy stone.

But first, he needed to find her.

Colin had shifted back to human form and come ashore near the headland where he had seen her standing. She was no longer there. He stood still to concentrate, trying to get a bead on her. His human senses were not as good as his sea dragon's. He considered shifting to his wolf form so he could track her swiftly, but shifting took magical energy that he might need later.

He wished he'd been able to locate the sea dragon. Hopefully none of the ords would find the body. If they did, things could get messy fast. As far as anyone outside the shifter community knew, there was no such species of sea creature alive today, and sea dragons did not figure in Earth's evolutionary record.

It would be like finding a unicorn or a centaur. The last thing they needed at Mallochbirn was a bunch of crazy conspiracy theorists or paranormal weirdoes claiming to have found a mythical creature.

Cam liked to think of himself as a pragmatic man. You couldn't control everything, so you did what you could. He could do nothing right now about the creature. But he could deal with the woman.

And he had better do it fast, before anyone else, either Cam's men or the ords, found her. She would not be likely to fare well with either.

When he'd gone back to human form, he'd lost her scent. Damn human noses—they were bloody inferior. He needed his wolf. Using a small amount of energy, he did a minor shift—just a bit of the forebrain where the nasal receptors were. There. Oh aye. Now he had her.

Rich, hot female musk flowed along the shore toward him. She was down near the water now, among the rocks, moving toward the crag that marked the far end of the little cove.

Her spicy scent made his blood pound. He wasn't sure what was so alluring about it, but he was almost glad to be hunting her. He was a predator, after all—both in his sea dragon and his more common wolf form.

She had concealed herself, but she would not be able to hide from him for long. If she ran, he would catch her. If she hid, he would sniff her out. He moved more quickly toward her position, still maintaining his human form except for the accentuated canine senses.

There was a kind of joy about hunting her. Something primitive that he couldn't account for. She was a Traveler of Zanovar. In her world, the Travelers were revered. Demi-godlike, if he could rely on what he had heard during his excursions in her world.

With the help of books he had smuggled back through the Barrier in a waterproof casing, Colin had learned to speak a language they called the Common Tongue. It was spoken everywhere among educated peoples, as Latin had been during the Middle Ages on Earth. It was also popular among seamen and commoners in port cities, which had been the chief places he had visited in the other world. So he'd had plenty of opportunity to practice.

He ought to be able to communicate with the Traveler. Once he captured her.

He did not know what to expect when he approached her, though. Would she be armed? Was she capable of some sort of magical defense? Travelers were seen by commoners as immensely gifted and powerful. Magical beings. They could fly and swim beneath the sea in a world where mass transit and communications had not yet been conceived of.

His nostrils caught the sharp unmistakable female sweat.

Her.

She was moving. But not quickly. If she had been in the water, she must be cold, and that was probably slowing her down.

If Colin had not been accustomed to hunting in his wolf form, he might have been ashamed of the rush of lust that fired him at the thought of her being too weak to evade him. Hunting was deep instinctual behavior, born of the need to survive, eat, mate, and pass down one's genes before being hunted and killed by some other predator. It was natural. Not something to regret or chastise oneself for.

There. Not far from the shoreline was a promontory with a scattering of large boulders at its base, as if a giant had dropped a fistful of stones from above. She had concealed herself among these.

He wasn't sure if she had sensed his pursuit or if she was just being cautious. He reminded himself that he must be cautious, too, since he did not know what surprises she might have in store for him. But from everything he had heard, a Traveler marooned without the large, wild creature she controlled was missing her most fearsome and powerful weapon.

He almost had her.

Damn, his blood was hot. He was going to find her and take her down.

Chapter 7

Ariane sensed that she was being hunted. After being paired for two years with a powerful predator, she knew what it felt like to stalk prey. She had experienced the fiery intensity of it. She could identify that passion when she felt it on the wind.

Someone or something knew she was here. The darkling who had attacked? Who had torn Rin's hide and possibly killed him?

She felt a wave of dizziness, but she fought it off. She had to stay strong. She had practiced for situations like this. Well, maybe not exactly like this. But she had been in a couple of tricky spots before.

If she was being tracked by some sort of sophisticated magic or technology, she didn't think there was much she could do to evade it. But if her stalker was a creature or a human, perhaps she could.

Crouching in the dark, she moved silently from the shelter of one large boulder to the next. She stayed near the ocean's edge. When it was possible to do so, she ducked into the sea to wash off any scent she might be leaving in her wake. But she couldn't stay in that water long, given how cold it was.

There was no moon, which made it easier for her to stay hidden.

But he kept coming.

She ran, she crept, she evaded. But still he followed. And now she had come to the edge of a large headland that jutted out into a whirl of crashing ocean waves. Without Rin, she could not safely swim around them. Nor, in the dark, could she climb the stony cliff that was now looming over her head.

She was trapped.

Panting in the lee of a large boulder, she weighed her options. There was nowhere left to run. She could hide, but so far she hadn't been able to lose her pursuer, so he must have a way of tracking her that she couldn't evade.

She would have to stand and fight.

Or bargain.

Maybe she should pretend to be someone who lived here? But she didn't know the language, the customs, or the manner of dressing. Everything about her would scream alien. Depending where she had ended up, she might be thought a witch or a magician or some other evil being.

Well. She could deal with that. Travelers were often the first people who made contact with new races.

Leaning against her rock, shivering with cold, and unable to shake her worry about Rin, Ariane knew she could run no farther. Whatever this threat was, she would have to meet it, and do so with dignity.

Drawing a deep steadying breath, she stepped out from behind her rock.

He stood there, not far away, waiting. A tall, broad-shouldered man. As for customs and clothing, this was a puzzle—he was naked. This seemed strange, given the temperature. It was not exactly cold here—they were not in a wintery season—but the wind was chilly, and the temperature of the water plus what little she could see of vegetation in the dark suggested that she had landed in a northern clime. Even if this was an undeveloped civilization, he ought to be wearing a garment of some sort. Clothing was one of the hallmarks of civilization.

On the other hand, he was stalking her. Perhaps he had removed his garments upon realizing she was cornered. He looked like a strong, finely-built male, and he appeared to be young. Perhaps there was only one reason here to chase a woman, and that was to rape her when you captured her.

His sexual organs did not present the universal sign of arousal, but that didn't necessarily mean rape was not his goal.

Lifting her chin, she stood straight and tall. She put both hands up in what she hoped indicated that he should not approach any closer. She tried not to look frightened, though, since that often encouraged aggression. She could, if it came down to it, fight him, but given the advantage of height and weight that he presented, she doubted she would win.

He raised his hands in a similar gesture, palm outward. And then he smiled. Surely a smile was universal. It made her feel a little easier in her mind. That smile. He was a comely young man, with smooth yet prominent muscles and brown hair that flopped down over his forehead just above his friendly eyes.

He spoke. She could not understand his words. And yet...and yet...the sounds were familiar. It sounded something like Arralic, especially the dialect that was spoken in the north of those lands. A tongue of the same language family? She was clever with languages, and if there were similarities, she ought to be able to pick up the dialect quickly.

She said in answer, "I do not understand, but I can learn if we begin with some basic words." She tapped her chest and said her name, knowing that gestures and signs were easily understood.

"Ariane," he repeated. He tapped his own chest and said something that sounded like, "Col-in." When she repeated it, he smiled again, a warm smile that made her body tingle in a distinctly sexual way. That was interesting. Was it normal for her body to react to an attractive male from a different world?

The next thing he said, she did understand:

"Forgive my errors in this language. Are you a Traveler?"

Her breath caught. Was she in her own world after all? His accent was thick, but he was speaking the Common Tongue. "I am. I have had an accident. I may be a little shocked and confused." Indeed, she felt as if she were about to break down and weep. "Where am I?"

"You're in Scotland."

Scotland? There was no such land in her world. Nor had she ever heard the Common Tongue spoken with a thick brogue like his. No. Her original conclusion must be correct—she must have fallen through the Abyss.

"Are you injured?" He touched his own cheek. "You've been weeping. Will you tell me why?"

She should not respond. This man was hunting her. But there was something soothing about his voice. "It's Rin. He is my bonded companion. I can no longer feel him. I fear he is dead."

"Your bonded companion? Your lover?"

She frowned. Her lover? That was an odd idea. "Rin is a predator of the seas. His kind probably don't exist here."

"Is he a zrakon?"

"A zrakon? I do not know this word."

"A dragon of the seas."

"Yes. He and all his kin were banished from the skies in the days of Heroes. How do you know this? There are sea dragons here, too?"

Instead of replying, he asked another question. "Is Rin a shape dancer?"

"What is that?"

"A shape shifter? Does he change his form from sea dragon to man?"

"How would he do that?"

He did not explain. "So you have no shape shifters in your world?"

It was a different world. And he obviously knew about hers. How much else did he know? "Do you have them in yours?" she countered.

His attention had shifted to the sky. "I would like to explain. And to help you, but I think we must act fast, because I can hear a helicopter approaching."

"A helicopter?" He had used a foreign word.

"Sorry, there's no equivalent in your language. Come. Quickly. Let's get behind that rock. If they have night vision scopes, though, it won't do us much good."

More strange words. She didn't resist when he grasped one of her hands and pulled her into the lee of a large boulder. His flesh was warm, and the attraction she had felt from a distance was magnified now that he was close to her. She glanced at his bare body—all muscled and strong. It was not just his smile that was appealing.

"I apologize for being undressed. It's one of the awkward things about shifting. But don't be afraid. I won't harm you."

"Why are we hiding?"

"Hear that sound?"

She nodded. She did hear the distant whop-whop sound, although she was surprised that he could hear it, too. Her Traveler senses were acute. It was the same sound made by the flying boat, or whatever that thing was. It was returning in their direction. "I saw it a little while ago. A helicopter, you say? Are there creatures inside it?"

"Yes. Creatures like me. Your passage through the Barrier was noticed."

She had been afraid of that. "They are searching for me?"

"For you and your sea dragon, aye. Your appearance has caused a stir."

"Why do you speak the Common Tongue? The language you spoke at first sounded like a variant of Arralic."

"That was English. It does sound like Arralic, doesn't it? I don't speak Arralic very well. I learned the Common Tongue in your world. It is not known in mine."

"So you are not from my world?"

"No, I'm a Scot."

"But you have visited my world?"

He shrugged, not answering her question. Instead, he jerked his chin up toward the sky. "Hush now. They're going to be overhead soon so we need to be quiet. I hope they aren't inspecting every shadow."

Her eyes widened as the thing in the sky came into view. It projected a harsh, strong light that didn't look natural. The light swept over the shoreline, moving in wide arcs. The mechanical sounds became louder, then dropped in pitch as the flying boat moved past their position.

When it was gone she whispered, "Did it sense us?"

"I don't think so."

"But there are people inside?"

"Yes, we have aircraft in this world. There people inside, flying them."

She digested this. She reflected once again that if people could fly in these machines, this world probably didn't have much use for Travelers.

"We have mechanical boats also," he told her. "And submarines that can dive deep down under the sea."

Rin, she thought, as another pulse of agony shot through her. She was grateful for this man, this naked man, who was supporting her body with strength and his warmth as they stood behind the rock.

"What is it?" he asked. He must have felt her stiffen with pain as she thought of Rin.

She remembered the darkling and seemed to feel its icy breath all over again. "It's nothing," she said it in a low, cracking voice. She stiffened her spine. She couldn't allow him to think her weak. "I am fine."

The man crooned something in his lilting native language. Then he said in the Common Tongue, "I need to get you to a safe place. I think the best way for us to travel is the way you're accustomed to. If you can bear it."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know anything of my world? It is said that the Travelers are finely educated. But do you know of the Rift? Of the Barrier? Do you understand that you have fallen through into an alien world?"

Ariane's brain was in a whirl, but she had prepared for contact with other cultures for most of her life.

I can do this. Even without Rin, I can do it. I must.

"We are taught that there are nine contiguous worlds. They are separate, but sometimes a gateway opens. That's really all I know. There might be senior members of my order who know more."

He laughed. It was a pleasant sound, and it made her feel a little better. Laughter always eased the aches of life. "Well, lassie (another word she had never heard) you're getting the advanced course, aren't ye? In our world there are people who can shape shift. I'm one of them. It's how I got here so fast. I have a zrakon form. Since you're accustomed to swimming with a sea dragon, I'm going to take you back to Mallochbirn with me that way. You'll be safe there while I sort things out and try to figure out a way to get you home."

"I am not sure I understand," she said carefully.

"Aye, and I'll show you. Don't be scared. I'm sorry about your companion, and I hope this doesn't make your grief worse, but if we don't move soon, we'll have to give an account of ourselves. Which'll be difficult for you, with your not speaking English, now, won't it?"

"I can learn this English quickly."

"Not quickly enough, my lass. Stand back, and try not to freak. I am going to transform my body to my sea dragon form. I wouldn't do it so suddenly, but we have to get out of here fast or they'll find us. Cam'll have his wolves out by now and they're built for speed. Trust me, you don't want to encounter those dudes."

He was peppering his speech with more foreign words and his accent had gotten thicker. He was clearly under some kind of stress.

He changed. The transformation caused a magical aura and an unpleasant sound of crunching, breaking bones. From the expression on his face, it must be hurting. Then his human face was gone.

Ariane ordered herself not to panic. There were legends about shape shifters. If they existed in Zanovar, she had never met one. She had certainly never witnessed the change.

But she was in another world. Anything was possible.

She gasped when the transformation was complete and a sea dragon stood before her. He had the ridged forehead, broad snout, widely-hinged jaw and large, vertically-slit eyes of a sea dragon. He also had the long, curved neck, huge hulking shoulders, and two humanoid arms. His broad chest was crisscrossed with powerful tentacles, and beneath them, she knew, was the breathing bud a Traveler pressed her face against while they were swimming underwater.

His torso was long; he had thick hips and flexible legs that ended in flipper-like feet. His tail was long and tapered to a fin. On his back you could see fragile appendages that appeared to be ragged wings. A strange creature—one who could navigate well in the sea, yet didn't seem constructed for ocean living. Perhaps they had never reconciled themselves to being dragons of the sea instead of dragons of the sky.

Even though the monster standing proudly before her resembled Rin in all the physical particulars, he was so obviously not Rin that Ariane felt a pang. He was bigger and his scales were a different hue. His face was different. And his eyes...his eyes were intelligent in a way that Rin's had never been.

Oh Mother, please guide me.

This was a magical sea dragon. Not her familiar Rin. Once again, her heart cracked.

He opened his jaws as if to speak, but the sound emerged in a growl. No more language. How were they to communicate? Should she try to forge the bond with him? But he was human, if she understood him correctly. It was forbidden to form a telepathic bond with another human.

When she hesitated, the look in his eyes changed to urgent. She heard a droning again from the sky. The thing, the helicopter, was returning. Tentacles came away from his chest and wrapped around her. Lifted her. Carrying her, he stalked down to the edge of the sea and splashed into the surf.

She did panic then. She had never been seized by one of the predatory animals she interacted with. Sea dragon or tiger or snake or mammoth eagle—she controlled them, not the other way around. That was what the Traveler's Bond meant—she took mental control of the animal and bade him to carry her where she wanted. Never, never did a Traveler cede power to a creature. That was a sure way to become prey.

She tried to form the mental bond—to force it on him if necessary. But when she reached out in her own mind to contact his, she hit a wall. She was struggling with it, seeking a way through his considerable defenses, when icy water swirled around her body.

He was hurting her. Holding her too tightly, which didn't help her panic and confusion. What the fires was he doing? Did he know how a Traveler partnered with a sea dragon? She struggled as they splashed in the shallow water just off the shore. She tried to form the bond again, and this time she felt his resistance go down. Sparkles of light gleamed all around them where her body was pressed up against his. She had never seen that before. The golden tunnel slammed into place between them and she tumbled through. It was almost as terrifying as falling through the Abyss.

Then she was in his mind. His infinitely complex and intricate mind. Awareness of his power, his intelligence and his dominance flashed through her. Bloody Karth! He could crush her.

As if he felt her fear, he sent soothing vibrations through her. Then she heard his voice in her head. It seemed to come direct from his brain to hers. You're fine, he told her. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you.

But she was not so easily placated. "What are you doing, you oaf? The water is freezing and I cannot breathe."

Bloody hell! That must be some sort of oath. You heard that? This is wild, in'it? You can read my mind!

It was a shock to her, too, because sea dragons and mammoth eagles didn't have complicated thoughts. "It's the Traveler's Bond. It's how we control our companions so they don't tear us apart."

Well, no fear of that, lassie, I'm not the tear apart sort. So you can breathe from my lungs, aye? Because we'll be seen on the surface. We'll have to dive.

"Where are we going? How can I direct you if I don't know where we are?"

You just sit tight. No need to direct me; I know where I'm going. I'm gonna swing you around under me now, so hold your breath until you can get your lips on the breathing valve, okay?

"Wait!"

Can't wait. Helicopters coming. Two of the fucking things. Here we go.

She had time to gulp a breath and try to push her hair away from her face before he thrust her down into the dark, cold water and pulled her under his great smooth belly. He helped her find the bud, for which she was grateful, but he wasn't exactly coordinated about it. Her thoughts were all over the place, and her feelings too. This should be Rin! There was something almost sacrilegious about connecting with another sea dragon so quickly after she had lost Rin.

Have you got it? Can you breathe?

"Yes. Keep your hand on the back of my head so I don't lose contact with the bud as we speed up. There is turbulence, especially when accelerating. If you can reduce the turbulence somehow, there's less chance my face will come away from where it needs to be."

Got it. She felt the large pectoral tentacles lace around her body, pulling her into the sea dragon embrace that was so familiar to her. Is that okay? I'm not hurting you, am I? I've never done this before.

"Never done what before?" she asked, alarmed. She hoped he didn't mean he had never shape shifted to a sea dragon before. But he was already diving into the deeper waters, and swimming at speed, so he seemed competent enough.

Never had a companion, as you say. Never swum with a Traveler. I mean, I know about it theoretically, and from my brother, but—"

"You have a brother who is a Traveler?"

No, I have a brother who is the Zrakon. King of all shifters around here. Well, there are always disputes about that, of course, and Ross isn't the type of guy who bothers to sling his weight around. Now Cam, on the other hand, that's Ross's twin....This is amazing. I can talk to you so easily.

Ariane wasn't sure how she felt about a talking sea dragon. Particularly one who wasn't allowing her to control their bond. She was used to being the dominant partner. But with this man, this Colin, she was at his mercy.

"Where are you taking me? I need to find my companion. I need to locate Rin."

She received a mental image of blood and injury that terrified her before he guarded the thought. "Have you seen him? Is he dead? I can't contact him. Oh fires, I'm such an idiot. I'm so afraid he'd going to die because of me."

It's okay, this new strange sea dragon crooned to her. I haven't seen him, but I felt a struggle and I smelled his blood. At least, I reckon it was his. He might still be alive. This didn't sound like a confident thought. Maybe he got back through the Barrier, and that's why you can't feel him anymore.

"He saved me. We were attacked and he was injured, but Rin got me to shore. I don't even know how. I had passed out."

Who attacked?

"A darkling," she said, seeing it again as if in a nightmare. "I know it makes no sense, but I think it was the darkling that herded us right through your Barrier into this world and then pursued us into it. It felt...I got the sense...that it wanted us here."

Chapter 8

Colin was so concerned about getting the Traveler safely out of reach of anyone who might be curious about her that he initially didn't pay much attention to the way it felt to hold her pressed against his sea dragon body. And for most of the swim to Mallochbirn isle, he was so intrigued by the mental communication that had spontaneously sprung up between them that he could think of nothing else.

It was like magic. He knew the twins could do it with each other, and Ross had said he could do it with Kate. But it's hard to imagine something you've never experienced.

The language barrier had vanished as soon as they were mind to mind. He had no idea why. One thought in language, surely? But now he realized that thought was more than words.

Meeting Ariane's mind was a revelation to him, not only because he now understood something he had long wondered about—how Travelers communicated with their animal companions. But also because of what he now knew about her.

She had a bright, lively mind and a tender heart. She was mourning the loss of her sea dragon and resentful about having to swim with a substitute. Yet at the same time, she was as intrigued as he was by the ease of communication between them. Even Travelers, he realized, did not experience this joining of two intelligent minds. Their animal companions' brains were too different from the brains of humans.

It wasn't that a sea dragon was not intelligent. Colin knew from his own dealings with sea dragons in the waters of Dunya that they were. But it was a different kind of intelligence, meant for living a different kind of life.

He enjoyed "talking" with her. He tried to be a comfort to her, because he knew she was confused, scared, grief-stricken and guilty. He could tell that she was trying to be strong. She blamed herself for whatever had happened to her companion. He had no clue what she had done—she was protecting her thoughts and memories, although now and then he had a flash—but she believed her own actions had led to this debacle.

Colin was so drunk with the delight of meeting another person mind to mind that it was some time before he noticed how good she felt physically. But when he did realize it, he was horrified at the way his monster body reacted. Pleasure spiked deep in his vitals and the sea dragon cock, large in its ordinary state, began to swell and lengthen just like a man's.

It wasn't as if this had never happened to him before. Zrakons were horny creatures. During his explorations of the seas of her world, he had encountered female sea dragons. He had even considered indulging himself with one of the females who seemed to find him attractive there. He'd noticed, while observing other pairings, that they not only joined at the genital region, but also used their tentacles to caress and entangle themselves. His own tentacles were sensitive and, when he was aroused, erogenous.

He hadn't actually played around with any female sea dragons. His sea dragon self would grow quite excited while watching them. But his human side acted as an inhibitor. He wasn't really one of them, after all.

But now, he felt like a teenager again. Dancing in a pub with a girl who would notice that he had an erection. Such a thing never bothered him now, but this was different. What would Ariane think of him? Surely a Traveler didn't have to contend with erotically threatening predators? Anyway, a sea dragon couldn't mate with a human, except, well, there was that annual Midsummer's festival in the village at Mallochbirn. Ross had laughingly told him, "Good, you can take my place this year, Col. I'm not leaving my Kate for a summer solstice frolic, not this year. Or ever."

Ross had never shared exactly what happened during the "frolics," although he knew all the stories; everyone in the village knew them. "Exaggerated," was all Ross would tell him. "Don't believe everything you hear, young one."

The more he tried not to focus on his uncomfortable situation, the worse it got. He tried to shift Ariane, in hopes of lifting her away from his throbbing cock, but he couldn't move her much without jeopardizing her mouth's grip on the breathing bud. Besides, with his pectoral tentacles laced around her, he could feel every curve of her body.

He longed to caress her intimately. Slide inside her. Fuck her until they both screamed aloud. How would her mouth feel against his lips? His cock? His balls? How would it feel to stroke her with his tentacles? A sea dragon cock was too damn large to fit inside a human woman, but his tentacles would work, no problem. Would she enjoy a wild ride on one of those? He could penetrate her in all her holes at once. It would be a one-man gangbang.

Damn, he was deviant. He hoped she wasn't reading every one of these thoughts and fantasies via their telepathic bond.

His obsession grew until he could think of nothing else. Her mouth was already around that bud on his chest—the one she needed so she could breathe underwater— and now it began to feel unbearably delicious and erotic, which made his monster cock filled even more.

"Don't be embarrassed," Ariane told him, after he'd suffered this discomfiture for several minutes. "I'm used to it."

Humiliation warred with curiosity. As usual with him, curiosity won. Sorry. Reflex. My sea dragon is quite the juvenile.

"Our companions are usually young males. Because they are away from their kind for a time, they have less opportunity to mate. So such reflexes are common."

He began to feel better. No less aroused, but not as awkward about it. She sounded cool and matter of fact. Does it ever cause a problem?

"If you're asking if Travelers are ever raped by their companions, the answer is no. We control the bond, you see." She paused, suddenly vulnerable. "Usually."

Don't worry about me, he said quickly. I'm not really a sea dragon, I just take the shape of one sometimes. But not for that. For that I, well, I keep my human form. He had a flash of the evening's shag with Evie. Evie was a fine lass, and he liked her, but, this woman, this Traveler—she was really something.

As soon as he had the thought, he felt surprised by it. Poor Traveler! It was not just his sea dragon who wanted to fuck her. Damn, his erection got even harder as he thought about shagging her in human form.

She must have been curious too, though. "Do people in your world mate the same way we do in ours?"

Oh aye, I reckon so. I mean, you look just like a human woman to me. And feel like one.

She laughed softly. If you could laugh telepathically. Was it a flirty laugh? Dear Christ, he hoped so. "And you look like one of our men." She'd had plenty of time to evaluate him. He'd been completely starkers when they'd met. "Except for the shape shifting part."

I suppose we must have evolved along similar lines.

"Evolved?"

You know—slowly developed into complex creatures out of the primal ooze.

"What's the primal ooze? Is that one of your creation myths?"

He snorted. I guess you could say so. Theory of evolution. Darwin. Mid-19th century. From what he'd seen of the great cities of Dunya, the development of culture, civilization and learning paralleled early Renaissance Europe. 15th century or so would be his best guess. Jeez. What did Travelers know about the solar system? The atom? Microbes?

Compared to those things, sex was a simple matter.

Chapter 9

"What is this place?" Ariane had seen many wonders during her travel, but the cavern they had emerged into was dazzling. The low ceiling was encrusted with crystals, gleaming in a bright array of colors.

They had come in via some sort of underwater tunnel. The pool they had ended their journey in was quiet, and the roar of the sea now seemed distant, although it could not be far away. "It's beautiful," she added.

"We're under the keep," he explained. As he strode out of the water, his enormous body changed again, compressing to the size and shape of a man. He was nicely made, she noted. Compact, with firm smooth muscles. On closer inspection, she noted that one of his hips was slightly higher than the other. Yes, the lower section of his spine was askew. She had seen this before, in her own world. His was not a severe case. Quite mild, in fact.

She decided she liked it. His body was otherwise perfect—all the proportions were exact, as if the Mother Creator had crafted him as a model, but found at the last moment that his perfection was too godlike—a sure recipe for arrogance. So the Creator's fingers had nudged his spine, shifted the bones and marred in the smallest way the flawlessness of her own creature. Arrogance was an affront to the gods.

"You have the Maker's curse," she called out after him. "Your spine. That is reassuring."

He stopped and slowly turned. The color came up in his cheeks—his skin was paler than hers so she could see this clearly. Had she embarrassed him? Strange how easy it was to embarrass this man. His male appendage was not jutting. Although as she followed him out of the water, it perked up as the sea dragon's had. "Is my scoliosis that noticeable?"

"No, not really. I was looking closely because your body is quite beautiful."

He blushed even more, but he smiled at the same time. "Thank you. So is yours. But why is my twisted spine reassuring? No one has ever told me that before."

"We say in Zanovar that every person bears a curse from the Creator that mars their godlike perfection. Some bear it where all can see, but most keep their imperfection hidden inside. The more deeply it is hidden, the more powerful it grows, and it longs to show itself. But when the mark of the Goddess is plain for all to see, there is no pride, no arrogance, no darkness, no secrecy. More often than not, that will be a person you can trust."

He smiled. "I like that interpretation." The smile changed to a laugh, which was pleasant to her ears. "I'm not sure I believe it, but tis a fine notion." She felt his gaze on her body now, surveying her openly. "I can see no imperfection in you. Should I be alarmed?"

Now she was embarrassed, and embarrassment did not come easily to her. "No imperfection? You must not be looking hard enough. I am too short and small and my skin color has more than the usual amount of red tones. As for my hair, it should be brown like yours, but as you see, it is a pale and boring shade of yellow."

"We call that blonde. In this world, many women dye their hair in an attempt to capture that color."

"Really? Women color their hair in my world, too." She smiled. "I guess vanity is universal."

She knew women who spent a good deal of time primping and polishing, clipping and buffing, painting and decorating their bodies. Unless she was making a formal diplomatic appearance, she rarely worried about how she looked, how she dressed, or the state of her hair. As for cosmetics and body paint, they smeared and washed off in the sea anyway, so what was the point? She did have several tattoos from her sojourn in Sariye, where tattooing was all the rage. But they were small and discreetly located.

"There's a waterproof locker back here," he said, climbing to one of the highest spots in the cavern where she could vaguely see some type of chest. "Kate's idea. We keep towels and dry clothes here. I think there are even women's clothes in here." He opened the chest and rooted around inside it. "If you would like to change out of that remarkable wet suit you're wearing."

She would. Her Traveler's uniform—the one suitable for swimming with sea dragons—would dry on its own rapidly, but the sea here was icy and this was not a hot climate. Warm dry clothing would be welcome.

"Who is Kate?"

"My eldest brother's wife. Ross is the laird of this place. It is an ancient title, not much respected in these modern times. But we are a strange little corner of Scotland, and we hold with many of the old ways."

He gave her garments that were unfamiliar, but easy enough to figure out. Leggings and a separate top with sleeves that closed in the front with a mechanism she had never seen before—something smooth and hard with little teeth that fit into each other, although she wasn't sure how.

"I think there are some underthings here, too, although I don't know if they will fit you." He held out something that looked like a harness and restraint designed for the breasts. For an instant, she just stared at it, wondering what sort of customs they had in this world. One did not restrain one's breasts in Zanovar or Arralon or even in Sariye, unless one was playing some sort of sex game.

As for the other item, she realized where that must go, too. Had she come to a place where everyone hid their genitals, or was it only for women? And what was the point, anyhow, since the other garments he had handed her would cover her flesh completely?

"I don't think I need those undergarments. Unless I would violate your customs to leave them off? I wouldn't want to offend anyone's sensibilities."

"Sensibilities?" He grinned. "Not around here. Outside the castle...well...we'll fret about that when the time comes." His expression grew serious. He gave her a towel to dry herself and did the same to his body. Then he clothed himself in trousers and a top that were exactly like the ones he had given to her, although larger. Did men and women wear the same clothing?

"These are just sweat suits," he said. "We'll find you some better clothing when we get upstairs. And I'll go back to one of my comfy kilts."

They had stopped communicating telepathically upon leaving the water, although she hadn't noticed it until now. He had resumed speaking to her in the Common Tongue.

"What will I find upstairs?" she asked, copying him in donning the garments. She watched closely as he fastened the two sides of the top together and moved a little tab upward toward his throat, sealing the garment. When she tried it herself, though, it wouldn't slide until he showed her how to do it.

"It's called a zipper. Neat, isn't it? You can move it up or down, depending on whether you're too warm."

She experimented with this, finding the mechanism simple but delightful. Not as wondrous as that huge flying machine that had hovered over the beach, but satisfying to her curious soul nonetheless.

"As for what you'll find upstairs, my brothers, mainly. Ross is the eldest. He's married to Kate, who is soon to birth her first child. Ross has a twin, Cameron, who isn't here at the moment, but will probably arrive shortly. My sister might be around, but I doubt it. My younger brother Jack is definitely not at home. I haven't seen him for a while. Our mother lives in Edinburgh—that's the capital city of Scotland. She comes to visit, but she isn't here just now."

"And your father?"

"Our father died about ten years ago. Ross is the head of the family now."

"I am grateful for the way you've been taking care of me. I know I wasn't very coherent when we met. I just—my companion— I've never—" her voice broke off.

She wasn't accustomed to people being so friendly. Usually they wanted or expected something from her. Or else they were intimidated by her status as a Traveler. It had been a long time since anyone had treated her like an ordinary person. That she would find a man who would treat her amiably, especially in a world that was not her own, seemed remarkable. Magical, almost.

"I am happy to be of assistance. But I should warn you." He hesitated. "My brothers, Cam in particular, will not be so welcoming. In fact, he will probably be a dick. Um, an asshole." He screwed up his features. "I'm not teaching you polite language, am I? He will be suspicious of you, and probably unpleasant. But stick with me, lass, and I'll do what I can to protect you. Okay?"

She smiled her assent, not at all sure what he meant about his brother. Perhaps they didn't get along? Well, she was dependent upon Colin for help and protection, at least until she learned to speak whatever native language was used around here.

Although he hadn't explained himself, Colin must have been to her world. Not only did he speak the Common Tongue, but he had also identified her as a Traveler right from the start. She had not known that there were people from other worlds who visited hers, but there was a great deal she had yet to learn from the senior members of the Travelers Guild.

Chapter 10

Colin expected some pushback from his brother, and he got it. But he was able to turn Ariane over to Kate, who greeted her warmly, despite the lack of a common language. Colin explained that she needed food, a room to sleep in and a change of clothing if Kate could manage it. Despite being noticeably pregnant, Kate started getting this organized with her usual efficiency.

Ross, meanwhile, dragged Colin into his study and demanded an explanation. Cam had not yet arrived.

It wasn't until Ross started grilling him about who she was and why he had brought her here that Colin realized how much had changed in his own mind since he and Ariane had formed a telepathic link.

He had, he reminded himself, been hunting her.

He had captured her. And now he felt proprietary toward her. He had been inside her mind. He was damn well planning to be inside her body, too, just as soon as she would allow it. He didn't want his brothers interfering with the woman whom he now considered his.

"Sorry to keep you guys up so late. Kate especially, with that pregnancy and all."

"No worries; she's got three more months to go."

"What have you told her?"

"I told her you were coming and that you might be bringing a guest." Ross grinned at him. "She asked if she should prepare one room or two."

"Well, I wouldn't mind, but I don't know about her," Colin laughed. "She's splendid, isn't she?"

"I didn't notice. Is she what I think she is? She's come through from the other world?"

"Aye, that she has. She's a Traveler of Zanovar. She and her sea dragon companion were attacked by something they call a darkling. Sounds like a vampire to me. Her sea dragon was injured and may have gone back through the Barrier. Or he may be dead. I couldn't find his body, though."

"Jesus. And you got her back here by swimming with her?"

"Aye. Worked fine. Glad you told me about that or I wouldn't have known what to do. There were fucking black helicopters out. I think they were Cam's, but I wasn't sure, so I figured better safe than sorry."

"I've spoken to Cam. He says he'll be here tomorrow. As for the girl, I told Kate to put her in the guest chamber in the west tower wing."

"Wait. The one with the barred windows? Isn't it cold up there?"

"Not at all. It's quite pleasant. And the door has a sturdy lock."

"She's not a prisoner, Ross."

"When he finds out about her, Cam will regard her as one. You know that. She's probably a spy."

"Well fuck that, when it comes to her world, so am I."

"You'd be locked up in a Sar water dungeon if they caught you there, Colin. Tortured probably, too. You know that."

"There's not going to be any torture of Ariane."

"Certainly not under my roof," Ross agreed. "But you'd better tell that to my twin."

"Damn straight I will. Please back me up. His interrogations make my blood ice over."

"I'll do my best," was all Ross would promise. "She will have to answer some questions, though. If she's cooperative, there should be no need for any of his more vicious tactics."

"She's not a spy. She crossed the Barrier accidentally."

Ross shrugged. "Well, we have to be sure of that, don't we? And according to Cam, things are messy these days. There's a restless werewolf gang with a new alpha up north, and a rampaging vampire wreaking havoc down in Edinburgh. Why those vamps always seem to go in for mass murder, I just don't know. You'd think they really were back from the dead, because those freaks are psychopaths."

"Everybody hates vampires," Colin agreed.

"You say this woman, this Traveler claimed to be attacked by a vampire?"

"She called it a darkling. I caught the scent signature near the Barrier. Smelled like a vamp to me."

"That's interesting. Did you know there were vampires in the other world?"

"Nope. Hadn't heard. But since most folks don't know we have them in our world, either, that's no big surprise."

"I wonder if they have shifters over there, too?"

"Ariane seemed surprised by the concept, although she handled her surprise well."

"I hope she's willing to share information with us."

Would I share information if I were captured, Colin asked himself.

The answer, distressingly, was no.

Chapter 11

Ariane was grateful for the warm blanket and the cheerful chatter of the woman who was married to Colin's brother. As she spoke, Ariane listened closely, trying to learn the new language. The general cadences and sounds were indeed similar to Arralic. She must be in a country that corresponded to Arralon.

Twin worlds. This land was roughly in the same position on the map as Arralon, and the language, too, was similar.

She was given food and fresh clothing that was more feminine than the sweat suit. She liked the laird, whom she met briefly, and his wife, who spent a good deal of time with her. They laughed and used hand gestures as they tried to communicate. Her name was Kate, and her babe was expected some three moon cycles from now. Her belly was large and she often put her hand to it and smiled, as if she could feel the baby move.

Ariane had never been pregnant herself, never really thought about the idea of giving birth to offspring. But Kate seemed to be looking forward to it.

Kate showed Ariane to a bedchamber in a high wing of the castle. Although the windows were barred with an iron grill, the rectangles between the bars were large enough to allow a splendid view of the sea and the village on the mainland, which was separated from fortress by a narrow causeway.

Ariane was intrigued to see how bright the lights were in the village, even though it must be well into the night. They must have the same form of illumination that the keep had—soft glowing lights that did not burn or smell. Were they fueled by some kind of gas vapor? Compared to the dark palaces of the wealthy in the lands of Arralon and Zanovar, and even Sariye where there were flares and candles everywhere, this place was amazingly bright.

She could see lights in the distance, too, although not many of them. Colin had told her that the land around Mallochbirn was mostly farmland, moors and mountains. There were no large cities nearby.

The village differed from any she had visited in Arralon. Because of the lights that burned through the darkness, she could see that the roads were paved with a smooth, hard surface that made traveling easy, especially in the strange mechanical vehicles that moved by some type of rapid self-propulsion. She did not see any horses or oxen. Of course, it was dark and she was not herself. The shock of losing Rin might have addled her brain. She couldn't be certain that anything was entirely real.

She was not normally a fanciful person. She considered herself sensible and tough-minded. It was not unheard of to lose one's bonded partner. Or to encounter strangers. She had been trained for such events. Remember your endless years of instruction. Don't disgrace the Guild. You can cope with this!

Still, she could not drive from her mind the mental sound of Rin's groans, his pain, his terror, his desperation because he couldn't find and protect her. Oh Rin. You tried, my dear one. He had saved her from drowning. He had set her safely on shore. But she had not been able to help him, or soothe his wounds.

Before leaving her to sleep, Kate, smiling kindly and gesturing with her hands, showed Ariane to a small bathing room that was attached to the bedchamber. She looked around, impressed. There was a commode, a washing bowl with valves for both hot and cold, and a large tub with an overhead spray, which Kate turned on for her. Soon steam began filling the room. The fixtures were made of soft white porcelain, which was rare in her world, even in the palaces of kings. Ariane had not seen such a fine bathing facility anywhere except in Sariye with its elegant public bathhouses.

Nodding and smiling, Kate handed her a pile of fluffy white towels. Grateful for the means to get clean, Ariane slipped off her clothing. Kate seemed surprised, but not embarrassed by Ariane's rapid disrobing. Perhaps people were accustomed to more modesty here? It was hard to know. Colin had introduced himself to her naked.

She quickly learned the words thank you, water, and sleep. Kate made sure that her bedding was turned down before giving her a spritely wave and leaving her alone in the room.

Grateful that she had found such friendly people in this strange world, Ariane used the switches Kate had shown her to turn out the lights. Then she climbed into the bed and nestled into the warm bedclothes. When she closed her weary eyes, she saw Rin and heard once again his anguished sounds after she had ordered him to leave her. Tears dampened the pillow as she slipped into sleep.

* * *

Colin had always been an explorer, and one of the places he had thoroughly explored was Mallochbirn Keep. More than any of his siblings, he knew every nook and cranny of the place. He knew all its secrets.

There was a network of old tunnels in the thick walls. Colin had discovered them long ago, when still short and skinny enough to fit in the narrowest ones. He had no idea whether anyone else in his generation knew of the tunnels, although he suspected Ross might.

The room where Kate had been installed had once been an important guest chamber. There was a secret passage that led to it. It had probably constructed back in the days when spying on your important guests was universal.

Colin lay in his own bedroom and tried to resist temptation. There was no reason for him to spy on her, and certainly none to intrude on her. But that hunting instinct was still alive in him and he couldn't resist.

As he crept through the tunnel to her room, he mocked himself over the shame he felt. Damn he was pervy.

She was sleeping, looking sweet and lovely, lying on her side with her knees tucked up. One hand was under her cheek and the other lay quietly on the half-tossed-off quilt. Kate had given her a nightgown, but she had draped it over the headboard instead of wearing it. She slept naked. He could see the soft curves of her body. She had a small waist in proportion to her breasts and hips.

Her skin was darker than most of the women he knew in Scotland. Not brown, but cafe au lait with a slight rosy tint. Her hair was light, something between gold and honey with a touch of copper. It was long. Her hair had been braided when they had met, probably to keep it out of the way while she swam. She must have loosened it for sleep because it was all around her now, a shiny cloud of fine hair.

He wanted to sink his fingers into that softness, wraps thick locks of it around his wrist. Pull it. Grab it in his fists and drag her head back so he could have full access to those lush lips, that beautifully arched throat.

Definitely pervy. His cock grew hard, watching her. The desire to take himself into his hand and bring himself to climax was strong. Truth was, sex hadn't been that big an obsession in recent weeks, despite his occasional fun with Evie. He had been too obsessed with learning all he could about the world beyond the Barrier. The world from which this lovely desirable woman had emerged.

There was something special about her. Something special about the way he felt when he was around her, with her, touching her. Something extraordinary about the mental connection they had shared during the swim back to Mallochbirn. He'd never been inside another person's mind before. It had been strange and intriguing. Mysterious. A different landscape from what he was accustomed to in his own mind.

His explorer instincts and his innate curiosity made him want to experience that bond again. To probe it. To know more of it. And of her. Inside and out. He also wanted to fuck her, and he wished he could burst in and do it now.

He was glad that Evie had made it clear from the start that she wasn't monogamous. "I'll be with you, Colin, if we're both in the mood, but don't expect anything from me. I like men, especially shifter men, but not exclusively. I'll get with ords too when I fancy them. It's my nature. I've never been a one-man woman."

He'd been fine with that, never having been a one-woman man. But as of tonight, he wasn't interested in Evie or any other woman. He wanted Ariane, and he was damn well going to have her.

Chapter 12

"I want to talk to her."

By noon the next day, Cameron had arrived. As usual, he was trying to run roughshod over everyone. Ross, his twin, knew how to handle him, but Cam had always presented a challenge for Colin. He was closest in age to the twins—only two years younger—and he had never appreciated Cam's tendency to push him around. Or try to.

"She's been through a difficult experience. She's resting in her room."

"Have someone bring her down and get her ready for me."

Colin bristled. "Get her ready for you? What the fuck does that mean?"

His cold-hearted brother eyed him. Colin waited for him to make a nasty remark, but surprisingly, all Cam said was, "I am going to question her, of course. In the meantime, I want to know everything you've managed to find out so far. This could be a big help to us. Quite a coup. I congratulate you, little brother. As far as I know, a spy from the world of Dunya has never before been captured before."

"She's not a spy," Colin said. He was trying not to lose it with his brother, but he could already feel his blood pressure rising. "She blundered through the Barrier accidentally. All she wants is to find her wounded sea dragon and go home."

He hoped his voice didn't convey the reluctance he felt about allowing her to leave. Now that he'd found her, he didn't want to relinquish her.

"She's one of the Travelers, isn't she? She was riding a sea dragon, or swimming with him. We know the Travelers are the primo intelligence agency in the other world. No doubt her 'accidental' incursion was deliberate. The only thing accidental about it was that her arrival was detected."

Colin knew he had to keep his head on straight, no matter how infuriating he found his brother. The fact was, Cam was right. However much he might have been tossed head over heels by meeting her, and however much his body might be aching to get her under him and fuck her, Ariane was a creature from another world. Possibly—no, probably—sent here to spy. Maybe even to steal technology. Of course the head of the Council of Protectors had to question her. Guarding the Barrier and protecting this world from incursions was the raison d'etre for the whole Malloch clan.

The Mallochs were not the only Guardians. There were many other clans and bloodlines, not only in Scotland, but in other lands as well. Most were shifters of some variety. Not all knew or recognized their heritage, or their responsibilities to humanity. Some even preyed on humanity. When in their changed form, they were all predators, which was why learning discipline and control was so damn important.

He had to exercise some self-discipline now. Ariane could tell them a world of things. Why was she here? What was her mission? How did the mysterious Travelers operate and what were their overall goals? What about the other nations in the other world? Ariane would have information about all these entities and peoples. If she could be convinced to share it.

"Bring her in, please," Cameron Malloch ordered.

* * *

Ariane knew things were going to be different today. Kate was just as warm when she came in the morning, bringing a pot of hot tea, which appeared to be a popular beverage in this land known as Scotland. The laird's wife encouraged her guest to join the family at breakfast, which she was glad to do. But when Ariane asked if she could go outside to explore the village, Kate looked apologetic and refused.

She gathered that another brother was scheduled to arrive soon at the keep. Although she and Kate had been exchanging dozens of words in their respective languages, she didn't know enough yet to ask a coherent question and comprehend the answer.

Colin had spoken of the brother, too. She guessed that he was senior to Colin and important in some way. And that he was coming to investigate her. If she had understood Colin correctly last night, those search helicopters had something to do with him.

She tried to envision what sort of questioning she could expect here. Colin had obviously been to her world, but she had no idea how much the older brother knew.

If interrogated, she was permitted by her Guild's rules to answer basic questions about her identity and her diplomatic responsibilities. But her knowledge of the formalities between nations, like boundary disputes and trade negotiations, was confidential. As for information about the inner workings of the Travelers Guild, she could not breathe a word about that.

Surely there wasn't much to worry about. How would someone who did not live in her world even know which questions to ask?

She was taken to a chamber that opened off the gallery above the great hall. The room appeared to be a study, with bookcases lining the walls, a heavy desk placed in front of a smallish window, and a few chairs. The brother, Cameron, moved behind the large desk, clearly the position of power in the room. He looked almost exactly like the laird, his twin. She was invited to stand before him, like a petitioner before a judge.

Smiling politely, she conceded the positioning. In her own world, she would be greeted as a near equal by heads of state, and as a person deserving of deference from someone of Cameron's level, which could hardly be too elevated since he appeared to have no entourage or symbols of high office.

On the other hand, Ross was the local ruler, if she understood correctly, and he wore no symbols of office, either. His entourage consisted of his pregnant wife, a cheerful cook named Mrs. Dumfries, an aide de camp named Hamish, and a young man named Jamie who had wolfed down a quick breakfast, tossed Ariane an admiring grin, waved and exited, still munching on food that he had gathered up in his hands to take with him wherever he was going.

If there were other servants around, she hadn't yet seen them.

A strange world, certainly.

None of them treated each other with any particular deference either, as far as she could see. There was no bowing or lowered eyes or obsequious tones of voice. They were all quite boisterous, cheerfully chatting and even arguing in what sounded like friendly tones.

It was different and refreshing. There was something appealing about these people. Colin especially. She had dreamt of him last night. A very sensual dream.

Colin stood on one side of the room now, lounging against one of the bookshelves. When their eyes briefly met, a current seemed to run between them.

"So," the brother said. Unlike Colin, his face was cold and impassive. Even his eyes were cool. This was a man who kept iron control of his emotions. "I understand that you are a visitor from another world?"

"So it would appear. But an unintentional visitor."

"Unintentional?"

He wanted her to explain. She recognized his technique instantly. Repeat her own words in a questioning inflection and get her talking. She smiled as courteously as she could and answered simply, "Yes."

His cold eyes flickered. He would know she had been trained in how to behave during an interrogation.

Like Colin, the brother spoke the Common Tongue. Quite well, too, with a little less of a broad accent than his brother. Perhaps it was she who ought to be questioning them. How often had they visited her world? Were there more of them there, spying on her people? What were their intentions? Were they hostile? Here in Scotland, the knowledge of so many ordinary things like lights and transportation far outstripped anything in her world. No doubt the same was true of the weapons of war.

"My brother tells me that you claim to be something called a Traveler of Zanovar."

She nodded her assent.

"And this Zanovar is a country in the parallel world known as Dunya?"

"Zanovar is a country, yes. Dunya is the word in several of our languages for 'world.'"

"What exactly is a Traveler?"

Ariane sensed that he knew the answer to these questions already. "Someone who travels," she said blandly. "With the assistance of various animals such as horses, which I'm sure you also use in this world, sea dragons, and mammoth eagles."

"What is a mammoth eagle and how do you travel with it?"

"It is a large predatory raptor. A Traveler mounts upon its neck and shoulders, just above the wing joints, binds herself by means of a special net, and flies with the bird."

"Such a bird must be large indeed to carry the extra weight."

"Yes," was all she said.

"How do you swim with a sea dragon?"

Since his brothers could transform themselves into sea dragons, she presumed he knew the answer to this. Nonetheless, she politely explained how it was done.

"And you control these animals by giving them some sort of commands? How? Verbally?"

"Mentally. And by means of extensive training, of course."

"Mentally? You are a telepath?"

She had never thought of herself as a telepath. But her mind link with Colin must have happened by telepathy. Had Colin told his brother about that? "It is a kind of deep empathy," she said. "I can feel my companion's emotions and direct his course."

"So you directed your sea dragon to bring you through the Barrier to our world, correct?"

He was twisting her words. "No. We were attacked by a creature we call a darkling. As we dived to escape the attack, we entered a place in the sea that felt like a whirlpool. We were sucked in. I was knocked unconscious and knew nothing more until I awoke on a strange shore."

"Where is your sea dragon now?"

"I don't know. He was injured by the darkling. I ordered him to return to our world. I don't know if he was successful, or if he will recover." She spoke in clipped tones now, trying to keep a grip on her emotions. Rin!

"You say you were attacked by a darkling?" He sounded skeptical.

"Yes."

"Why did it attack? Had you done something to rouse its anger?"

"No. I got the sense that the creature was driving us toward something. An ambush, perhaps. But I now wonder if we were being herded toward the Abyss."

"Why would a darkling want you to leave your own world and enter ours?"

She shrugged. "I've no idea. It was just a feeling I had."

"What did this creature look like? Would you recognize it if you saw it again?"

This was a puzzling question. Did darklings have individual features? Perhaps; all other creatures did. "I had never before seen one, and I was too busy fleeing it to get a careful look. So, no, probably not."

Cameron rose from his desk and stepped around it. He had something in his hand, something shiny, and metallic. Whatever it was had a cold, dark aura.

He approached her. She stood her ground, but not happily. She didn't dare look at Colin, but she heard him shift and felt the sudden increase in tension. "Do you have any idea..." Cameron asked her "...how nonsensical your story sounds?"

She stiffened. "I am telling you the truth."

"That you tumbled through the planes of existence after being attacked by a vampire?" His tone was scathing. "I sincerely doubt it. Take this." Cameron held out the thing to her. She wasn't sure what it was. It was oval in shape, with ends that appeared to lock together. It resembled a heavy metallic necklace. Or a slave collar. It appeared to be worked in at least two metals, perhaps more.

"Put it on. It goes around the neck." He assessed her neck dispassionately. "I believe it will fit you."

"What is it?" she demanded.

"It will not hurt you. Nor will you wear it for long. Assuming you're telling the truth."

Colin spoke up. His voice sounded hollow with anger. "That is not necessary. She is a Traveler, not a shifter."

Cam didn't even look his way. "Then there should be no problem," he said. To her he added, "Will you put it on yourself, or must I do it?"

She took the thing, not wanting him to touch her. He was so different from his brother. She already had a strong gut feeling of dislike for this man.

The collar was cold to the touch, and yet it seemed to burn her. Some kind of magic? "What is it for?"

"Are you a shape shifter?"

"No. I never knew there was such a thing until I saw your brother change his form last night."

"This prevents a shifter from shifting. It is used to make certain the person you are interviewing doesn't change into a wolf or—he paused for a moment "—a gigantic predatory raptor."

She shook her head. For a moment, she wished she could turn into a mammoth eagle and attack him. So it was some sort of test? Fine. It suggested he was afraid of her, although he certainly did not show it.

She took the thing in both hands and slipped it around her neck. It was not easy to separate the two sides enough to get it open, but once it was situated, it snapped shut on its own. It felt tight. Uncomfortable, although it didn't seem to be impairing her breathing. Cold.

"Satisfied?"

He merely stared at her. Unlike Colin's stare, which warmed her and set her female parts a-tingle, this man made her want to flee far away and hide.

"Are you a shape shifter?" he asked again.

Was this some kind of truth collar? It seemed impossible to her, but flying machine with men in them seemed impossible, too. "As I said, no. I swim with sea dragons, but I can't change into one." She shot Colin a look. His entire body was rigid with tension, and it occurred to her that he should probably be the one wearing the collar, because he looked as if he were about to change into something ferocious and rip out his older brother's throat.

"Why did you come through the Barrier? What are you doing in our world?"

"I told you. I didn't intend it. All I want is to return to my own world."

"Why were you attacked—if indeed you were attacked—by this overly aggressive darkling? Did you challenge it in some manner?"

"No. I am a Traveler of Zanovar. We do not enter into battle with other creatures except to defend our own lives."

"Were you sent to gather intelligence about this world?"

"No. I was not sent. Not for any purpose. My being here is pure mischance."

"The Travelers of Zanovar do gather intelligence about other nations in your own world, correct?"

"The Travelers are neutral. We do not engage in political maneuvering. We are a corps of diplomats, healers, and explorers. We facilitate communication and trade between nations."

"You may do all those things, but the Travelers are also intelligence agents." Cameron stated this as if it were a known fact. Which it probably was. But how did someone from this world know so much about the Travelers?

"If the fact that we travel to many countries, learn their languages, and familiarize ourselves with their customs makes us intelligence agents, then I guess you are right."

"And you are here to gather intelligence, or worse, to steal technology and try to smuggle it back through the Barrier into your own world."

"What?" She was truly startled by this accusation. "That is untrue! Mother Creator, is that what you think? I don't even understand your technology, but if you refer to flying machines, why would I even want those in my world? They would make the Traveler's Guild obsolete."

"The technology in this world consists of far more than aircraft, as I'm sure you know."

"Actually, I don't know. I've seen nothing of your world but a dark beach and a few rooms in a keep that resembles the fortresses we have at home." Except for the lighting, she was thinking. And the bathing facilities. And the varied and plentiful food.

"The punishment for attempting to steal technology and transport it across the Barrier is death," her adversary intoned.

She had had enough of this duress and intimidation. "Fine. Kill me then if that is how you treat innocents in this benighted world of yours." Her fingers went to the iron and silver collar. She pulled at it, but it stayed firmly in place. "This is hurting me. Take it off so I can die with dignity."

"Oh, you're not going to die. Not yet. I'll have a whole lot more answers from you before I allow you to die."

"What the fuck?" Colin said, his voice reverberating like a struck gong from across the room. "You're treading a bit heavy there, Cam."

Cameron ignored him. Ariane was uncertain of the power dynamic here, but she doubted that Colin had the authority to interfere. He was a younger brother, and this castle was clearly under the rule of the eldest twin. She would have to defend herself. She had done it before.

"Remove the device," she said, framing the words into a command. This might be a different world, but she would maintain her status with pride and courage. "It's heavy. And it burns my skin."

"The quicker you answer my questions, the sooner we can remove it. I want to know everything you have in your pretty little head about your own world. The nations. Their forms of governments. Their rules. Their resources. Who is allied with whom. Trade routes. Religious and cultural customs. And so on. You'll answer my questions until I'm satisfied."

"I will not. I'm done answering questions. You have no right to press me for information."

He raised his eyebrows in that sardonic way that some men liked to use when they were mocking you. She really did not like this man. In some ways, he reminded her of a darkling. He had a dark shadow hanging around him. She did not want to talk to him. Or have anything at all to do with him.

"If you know anything about the Travelers, you must know that we only treat with high officials. National leaders. Kings. Queens. Emperors. Princes. I have tried to be courteous, but your threats cross the line. Anyway, I thought it was your elder brother who was the ruler here."

"My brother is the laird of a small region of Scotland. But the great lairds of this land no longer have the authority they once held. We have few kings, princes and emperors anymore." He paused. "But when it comes to the lives of shifters, a great deal of power is vested in me. I am the leader of what is known as the Council of Protectors. We protect the Barrier, which you have violated."

He stepped toward her until he was only a couple of paces away. "What that means is that your fate is in my hands."

"If you are a leader among your people, you may think of me as a princess of mine," she said crisply, hoping she was using a term that was suitable. "And I am accustomed to being treated with more deference."

Her questioner broke into a grin. This was the first time she had seen him smile, and it transformed his hard features and made him seem almost approachable. "A princess!" He swept her a mocking bow. She realized belatedly that the smile was not genuine. He stepped closer so he was right in her face and one of his big hands wrapped around her throat, above the point where the collar bit into her skin. He pushed her back against the wall. He was rough, and she gasped.

"Very funny. Now you have ten seconds to tell me what the fuck you are really doing on this side of the Barrier."

Chapter 13

"Take your bloody hands off her!"

Colin had been yearning to step in and stop the harassment, but Cam was his senior on the Council of Protectors. His brother was smart, strong and totally committed to his job. Colin knew the questioning was necessary. He also knew that he wouldn't be doing any favors to Ariane if he interfered.

But he was finding it difficult to fight the unaccustomed emotions that had him in their grip. He kept thinking of that moment when he had seized her in his sea dragon arms and wound his pectoral tentacles around her body. There had been a glimmer of light, a sparkling that he thought, from his extensive research, might have been an unusual phenomenon called the sevmelle. Legend said it only appeared between Malloch shifters and their mates. A sort of love at first sight in the shape shifter world. It meant you had met your life partner, and that like it or not, she or he was the one for you.

He might have dismissed the notion out of hand, but Ross had confided that it had happened to him when he'd met his Kate.

Cam wasn't getting the answers he wanted, and Colin could tell it was pissing him off. Still, he had hidden it until Cam advanced upon her, slamming his hands around her throat.

Colin was off the wall before thought was even possible. He leapt on his brother from behind and dragged him away, shouting at him to take his hands off Ariane and adding for good measure, "Get the fuck away from her."

Cam elbowed him furiously, but Colin knew the moves and compensated. It took less than a second for the attack to turn into a brawl, and probably less than ten for Ross to burst in, cursing, and wrench them apart. Colin was shaking with rage and something else, something he had never felt so strongly before.

Ariane was his.

No other man was going to touch her, not for any reason.

Especially not his bloody brother.

Ross had him by the shoulders and was shaking him. "Colin! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Colin was so limp with rage that he wasn't resisting. Cam had backed off, but his expression was grim. Controlled, though. The bastard was almost always controlled, no matter how wrathful he was feeling.

"You know better than to interrupt an interrogation, Colin," Ross went on. He sounded stunned. No doubt he was. Colin had never done anything like this before. If it had been Jack, no one would have been surprised.

Ross called for Kate, who hurried in, looking worried. He nodded to Ariane. "Please take her out of here. Let me remove the collar. Give her a cup of tea or something."

Kate shot an irritated glance at Cam and put her arm around Ariane's shoulder. "Will you come?" she asked gently.

"Not yet," Colin gritted out. He didn't want Ariane to leave this room without knowing that she was safe. That he would protect her from Cam. So he removed the collar himself, forcing himself to smile encouragingly at her as he did so. Then his slid his hands down her bare arms to grip her hands in his.

And the atmosphere in the room changed yet again. Because as his fingers moved over her, they gave off sparks of pure white light, like the glimmering when he had first touched her last night, but stronger, more persistent.

Even Ariane noticed it this time. "What is that?"

Colin reluctantly withdrew his hands. "I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"

She shook her head. "No, no, it felt nice. Warm and tingly. But what was it? More magic?"

Colin glanced at Ross, whose lips were pressed together as if in concentration. Ross would know what it was. And what it meant. He smiled at Ariane. "We do have strange magic here. I hope it's not freaking you out too much. Let me talk to my brothers, okay? Kate'll take good care of you."

She went.

Cam sent Colin a short, nasty sneer. "I shouldn't have allowed him into the room," he said. "Bad decision on my part. In the past, he has shown more judgment."

"Fuck your judgment," Colin roared.

The twins exchanged a glance. "What's going on, Colin?" Ross asked. "Cam wasn't hurting your girl, was he?"

"He was threatening her. Intimidating her. He put the damn collar on her even though she's no shifter. Then he put his hands on her neck and it sure looked like he was squeezing. Why was he even touching her? She was doing her best to answer his questions."

"Suppose you let me handle the responsibilities of a professional interrogation. Or have you forgotten how many times I've done this before?"

"How could I forget? They call you the Black Inquisitor."

Cam glanced down at his black t-shirt and black jeans. "Maybe I should have mentioned that to her. Works wonders."

Colin ignored this. "I also want to know why you are keeping her locked up like a prisoner. Can't you see she's no threat to anyone?"

Cam just looked impatient. It was Ross who tried to calm them both down. "If what you say is correct, Colin, and the world she is from is less technologically developed, then it's best that we keep her in a state that is not dramatically different from what she's accustomed to."

"Why? Are you afraid she'll be shocked insane by a glimpse of the modern world? She strikes me as level headed and sensible."

"You want her to be able to go back, right? We can't allow knowledge of advanced technology into her world. In case you've forgotten, that's one of the purposes of our guardianship of the Barrier."

"She shouldn't be here in the first place," Cameron barked. "It is unfortunate that she survived the transition."

"Oh aye? Then it's a good thing I got to her before you did, brother, since you'd probably have taken care of this problem by having her shot on sight."

"It wouldn't be the worst idea I've ever had," his brother snarled.

"Stop taunting each other," said Ross. "Christ, I'm beginning to hate having the two of you together in the castle. Why are you always at each other's throats?"

"The only place that woman is going is into a secure laboratory," Cameron said. "She can't be allowed to wander around this world. Things are tense enough now between the shifters and the vampires as it is."

"Fuck the shifters and the vampires. They have nothing to do with her. Look, I found her. She was hurt, scared. She's just a girl. Leave her the fuck alone."

"She's not 'just a girl,'" Cam said. He was back in his cool, laconic mode. Colin hated the way he could do that: take his feelings and slam them so deep inside him that they disappeared. "She came through the Barrier. She was with a sea dragon. The creature is probably dead, but its body hasn't yet been found. I hope we find it before MI6 does."

"How do you know it's still in this world? Ariane ordered it home."

"There isn't much I don't know," Cameron said. "I know that you swam right through the area where that sea dragon was. You knew all about it, but you haven't mentioned it. I also suspect you know more than you've admitted about the girl. I'm not going to lock you in an interrogation chamber and go to work on you because you're my fucking blood. But if you keep anything more from me about this matter, you will be off the Council for good. I won't tolerate disloyalty, especially in my own family."

Ross shook his head, but Colin was beyond shame. Let them think whatever they liked. He'd been the good boy of the family all his life.

"On this occasion, I have a higher loyalty," he informed them stiffly. "She is my mate. When first I touched her, we both lit up with the sevmelle. As you just saw for yourself."

Cam just rolled his eyes. "The sevmelle indeed. First Ross, now you? Well, too bad, because I don't believe in your fairy love lights. You want to fuck the girl, be my guest. She's a hot little lassie, I agree."

Ross grabbed Colin again, while snapping at his twin, "Dammit, Cam, don't make things worse."

"From now on, no one touches her except me," Colin said. "If there is more interrogation to be done, I will do it."

"You couldn't interrogate a puppy."

"Leave him alone for now, Cam," Ross advised. "Let's everybody cool down a bit before we discuss this any further. If they are really mated, then that's a problem we'll have to solve."

Cam turned abruptly and headed for the staircase leading down to the great hall. "A bullet would solve it nicely," he muttered, and Ross had to put a hard hand on Colin's shoulder to stop him from lunging after him.

Chapter 14

Ross took Colin aside a little later and said, "Look. I don't know what's up between you and Ariane, but you might want to think about acting fast. The sevmelle is not all pretty and benign. It will get hotter; it will burn. And your sea dragon will get all demanding and rapey if you don't make her yours and— Well, you know what I'm saying."

"Rapey?" Colin repeated with a grin.

Ross growled, "Don't say I didn't warn you, cub."

Colin was feeling protective, not rapey. But when he discovered that Ariane had vanished into Kate's quarters with her and showed no sign of emerging, he began to wonder if Ross might be right. Ariane had spent the rest of the day with Kate, who reported at supper that night that their guest's command of English was increasing at speed. The two of them seemed to be getting along famously. Several times that evening, Colin heard the women's laughter ringing through the hall.

But she didn't ask to see Colin. If the sevmelle imprinting was having any effect on her, she had given no hint of it.

He felt a stronger urge than he'd felt in a long time to hunt. He decided to shift to his wolf form and go cull the deer population in the nearby moors.

Deer turned out to be scarce. Either that or he wasn't really interested in them. He killed a couple of rats on a farm he passed, but that was just because they were raiding the grain stores. No way he was going to eat a rat. Nasty critters.

He wasn't hungry for food, anyway.

Colin returned to the keep, weary and unsatisfied, sometime in the middle of the night. He fought down the temptation to enter Ariane's bedchamber via the secret passageway, climb onto her bed, hold her down, part her thighs and shove himself into her, whether she wanted it or not.

Rapey? Damn. Looked as though Ross had been right.

When he knocked on the door to her room later the next morning, Ariane turned sharply. But when she saw that it was him, she smiled. "Colin." His name came more easily on her lips now. He loved the sound of her voice as she said the word.

"How are you feeling, lass?"

"Much better now that I see it is you and not your demon brother."

"I've warned Cam to stay away from you. He still wants to question you, though. I am trying to persuade Ross to do it instead. He's nowhere near the prick that Cam is."

Ross had a different temperament from his twin, and he wasn't the type to be pushed around by Cam. He would handle things in a much more civilized fashion. But Cam hadn't agreed to a change in interrogator. If it weren't for some emergency that had taken him away from the keep for a day or two, Colin knew he would have been demanding that Ariane submit to another session today.

He moved toward her, but she stepped away from him, walking to the barred window and gazing out. Her spine was straight and her shoulders were stiff. Damn. He had been afraid of something like this. Was she lumping him in with his brother? Fucking Cam.

She turned to face him. "I need to know what you and your brothers are planning to do with me."

Oh aye, she regarded him now as an adversary. Shit.

He wanted to reassure her, but the truth was, he didn't know what was going to happen next.

"I understand that I am seen as suspicious. I'm an alien. A stranger in your world. I might have some sort of evil agenda. I don't, but I can see why someone might think it possible."

He floundered a bit. "It's just that...stuff has been happening lately. Cam's a little tense. I guess he has a lot to think about. To worry about. To try to prevent."

"Is there some kind of warfare going on in this world?"

"Well, yeah, there's always somebody fighting somebody else among the human population. And there are times when it's even worse among the shifters. It's just that the vampires have been causing conflict. The darklings, as you call them. Shifters and vampires don't get along at the best of times, but lately it's been even worse. I'm not good with the political stuff, honestly. I try to keep out of it. I'm fond of learning and exploring. I'm something of a traveler myself, you see, in the sense that I love seeing new places, meeting new people and learning whatever they have to teach me."

She smiled. "Me too. There's a diplomatic arm of my Guild, and positions within it are greatly desired. But it's the exploration that I love. The things I can see from the air, the wonder and majesty of the seas, working with my bonded companion."

She looked down at her clasped hands, and he knew she must be thinking about her lost pet. She had been through so much in the space of such a short time. He knew how strange it felt to be in an alien world, but he had planned and intended his own trips to Dunya. He had not fallen through the Rift unawares.

"This can't have been easy for you, Ariane. I admire the way you're coping with it all."

She smiled and stepped away from the window, coming to his side. "I'm not actually coping well, but thanks. I'm sure your brother was just doing his job, and I appreciate the way you stood up for me. But you probably shouldn't have done so. I don't want to cause trouble for you with your family."

Her nearness was charging his body like the crack of a bolt of lightning. And it got worse. She touched his arm, running her fingers down from his elbow to his hand and giving his wrist a squeeze. She must have felt his surprise at her touch, because she quickly moved her hand away, saying, "I am sorry. That is how we greet one another in my world. Is it against your customs to do such a thing?"

He seized her hand, loathe to allow her to stop touching him. The sevmelle had begun glowing again. "No, I like it. It is a different greeting than we use, though." He showed her how to shake hands. "This is something we do. It is said that it originated as a way to prove to another person that you were not holding a weapon in your fist."

She stared, entranced at the fizzy sparks where their flesh joined. "Colin, what is that?"

"We call it the sevmelle. I think it means—"

"Sevmelle means love light," she interrupted. "In Saric, a language from our world."

That was news to him. "Seriously? I don't know the derivation of the word here, actually. What does it signify in your world?"

She looked awed. "Well, it's a myth. An old one. When two lovers see the sevmelle when they touch, it means they are everlasting mates. But—" she paused "—I never actually believed that."

Me neither, Colin was thinking. He had been hoping for some inventive shagging with Ariane, not a relationship that lasted forever. Although—wasn't that what finding one's mate meant? Among the wolf shifters, it usually meant you stuck with your mate until one of you died.

And he did like her. A lot. Which might have been what made him say, "Let me show you another common greeting. It's used among people who know each other well." He slid his arms around her and hugged her.

She laughed low in her throat and nestled against him. "I like this greeting better."

"Or sometimes, we do this." He dropped a gentle kiss on one of her cheeks. The light spicy scent of her skin just about drove him mad. He felt his cock swell. He kissed the other cheek. "The kiss on both cheeks is a common greeting in many countries I have visited." He looked down into her eyes, trying to decide whether to forge ahead and kiss her on the lips. She was looking up at him, her eyes wide. They were such an unusual color—a misty green, with gold flecks. Her lashes were thick and gold, like her hair, but at some angles, her magnificent hair seemed to glimmer with all the colors of the rainbow.

"When we know someone well, and enjoy being close to them," she said, "we do this." She tipped back her head and brought her face close to his. He thought she was going to venture a mouth kiss, but instead she pressed the tip of her nose against the tip of his. It tickled. He could feel her breath on his lips, and he could resist no longer. He slid one hand into her lovely hair and pressed his lips on hers for a good long and sensual kiss.

"Oh," she said, grinning as he pulled away. "Now that I recognize. We do it too. With people we like particularly well." And moving in close to him, she rejoined their lips, this time sliding her tongue against his and rubbing a good deal harder than she had done with the tips of their noses.

It felt amazing. When she drew back, those beautiful eyes of hers sparkling, he said, "I guess there are some things that are the same in every world."

"So it would seem." Her arms went around his neck and she pressed herself against him from breast to thigh. She must be able to feel his erection, but she seemed no more disturbed by it than she had when his sea dragon cock had surged against her during their swim to the keep. "What do you think would happen if someone from your world joined bodies with someone from mine?"

Was she suggesting that they experiment and see? If so, he was all for it. The sooner the better. "I don't know anything about sexual customs in Dunya. I haven't explored that aspect of your culture."

"Well, it's not the same everywhere, of course. But in my country, Zanovar, we believe that the Mother, our goddess, She who Created the Nine Worlds, gave us physical bodies in order to make our way in this world, and that we should respect and give them their due. That includes good food and exercise, and relaxing activities that calm the mind, and sensuality that warms the soul."

Normally he would have been happy to absorb whatever details she might reveal about her world, which he found fascinating, but right now all he cared about was learning whatever she considered warming to the soul.

To his amazement, she dropped to her knees in front of him. She ran the palms of her hands up his legs, sliding over his knees and under his kilt. "I had to ask Kate about the kilts," she admitted, looking up and giving him a mischievous smile. "I didn't have the vocabulary for the question, but she understood what I was curious about. She told me you don't wear any confining undergarments beneath these skirts."

"Hey, they're not skirts!" he teased back, amused that even in another world, women wondered what a Scotsman had under his kilt.

"At least, she said, her husband doesn't," Ariane went on, undeterred, "But I decided I wanted to find out about you personally."

He was laughing, but he was also rampant and feeling as though he might just lose control and spurt. When her hands reached his balls, he groaned.

"Ah," she said. One hand began a delicious caress of his scrotum while the other moved up to grasp his cock. She looked up again, asking a trifle shyly, "This is permitted?"

His natural inclinations could be restrained no longer. "It is. Do it harder." He could hear his own voice turn harsh as the need for relief intensified. "Show me how you do it in your world."

She laughed. Her lips parted enough for him to see the tip of her tongue. Christ. Was she going to...oh aye, she was.

Kneeling up, she gathered the fabric of his kilt and shoved it aside, and then took his cock deep into her lovely mouth and sucked. Lust pooled in his belly, nearly felling him. He grabbed one of her shoulders to steady himself, then plunged the other hand into her hair. He knew he was being rough as he positioned her face to just where he wanted it, but if he was hurting her she clearly didn't mind. His fingers were glowing with the sparkles of the sevmelle, but it didn't appear to be burning her. She moaned—an incredibly sensuous sound, and drew him deep.

Fuck! It felt amazing. He fucked her face wildly for several seconds, then she evaded him long enough to slow the action. He could feel her tongue swirling up and down his length with each stroke. As he pulled out, she expertly fingered his balls and flicked her tongue in a rapid circle around the helmet of his cock. Then she sucked him again, hard.

Jesus, he was going to come all over her. But she drew back a little and fisted his shaft instead. He was reeling, hardly able to stand. She kissed the head, she hand-fucked him while she nuzzled and licked his balls. She was gripping him firmly, every bit as roughly as he was pulling on her hair.

They both moaned as she sped up, her hand flying up and down, up and down, pumping him furiously. Then she grasped him by the hips, her fingertips digging into his buttocks, and sucked him into her mouth again. Her head bobbed on his dick, her beautiful golden hair cresting in luxurious waves against his belly and thighs.

He lost it completely. Arching his hips in ecstasy, he let her drive him over the edge to sweet release. As his seed shot into her mouth, she dug her nails into the flesh of his ass so hard it hurt, but he didn't care. He kept spasming—hot, wild, and wet, delirious at the thrill of her sweet mouth around him and the dark tight flesh of her mouth and throat.

"Ari," he groaned as the pulses of climax slowly faded. She was still on her knees, her breast and belly pressed to his legs, her face buried in his pelvis. As he withdrew from her, one of her hands came back to hold his dick and her tongue licked and soothed away all the wetness.

"You taste good," she whispered.

"Ari, my god, you're incredible." He gathered her in his arms and lifted her up, embracing her for a long moment before backing up until he felt the edge of her bed behind his knees. He sank down, pulling her with him. "That was...I don't even have words for how wonderful that was."

"I am pleased that you liked it."

"Liked it! Shit. I loved it." He pressed her gently down across the mattress of the bed and dropped down beside her. "I'm going to return the favor." Supporting himself on one arm, he stroked his other hand down her body, marveling as the sevmelle created tiny twinkles of light. Bending over he pulled her top up over her breasts—she was not wearing a bra—and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth. She gasped. "I want to hear you cry out my name. God help me, but I couldn't bear it when my brother was questioning you. When he touched you, I felt like killing the bastard. I can't stand the thought of any other man's hands on you." He held up his hand, gleaming with the light of the sevmelle. "See this? This means you're mine."

He allowed the hand to slide over her flesh, pushing any inconvenient clothing out of the way. She arched to his touch and made tiny gasping sounds when his fingers reached her sex. She was so wet for him. He caressed the soft petals, thinking with delight that women were the same in all worlds. Yet even so, Ariane was special. She seemed smoother, silkier, and more delicious. She was irresistible.

He slipped a finger into her pussy and curled it slightly to stimulate the sensitive inner walls. She cried out and clung to his shoulders, her nails once again biting into him. He added a second finger and moved them in and out. Her hips tilted up as she rode his hand, panting and grinding against him with increasing speed and abandon. His thumb found the hood of her clit and slid it away from the bud. She bucked as he stimulated her directly there, keening now as he took her ever higher. He knew she needed release, and he wanted to give it to her, but he couldn't help delighting in her desperation as she strove to find it.

He wanted to be inside her. Fucking her hard while she squirmed against his cock. She was his, and he needed to claim her. Just thinking about it made him stiff again.

"Say my name," he ordered.

She made a strangled sound that sounded like a combination of a gasp and a laugh. "Colin," she managed.

He finger-fucked her faster, harder. "Say it louder."

"Colin," she screamed. Her buttocks had risen off the mattress as she lifted her hips to drive every inch of his fingers inside her.

He used his other hand to caress and pinch her nipple. The fillip of erotic pain must have sent her over the edge because she stiffened and gave a piercing cry, driving herself against his hand in one final shuddering lunge. Then she fell back, her sex pulsing violently, her features contorting with pleasure before slowly relaxing into a smile.

Colin leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips of her pussy. Then he moved up to hold and kiss her face. "You're beautiful," he whispered.

Her fingers trailed down his spine. "So are you, Magical Shifter Man."

She came unresisting into his arms as he rolled his body atop her. God, his erection was as firm as if he hadn't come for days. He wanted to fuck her. Deep. Hard. For the rest of the night. His loins were aching again with the need and passion of it. "Do you want me?" He thrust his hips against the cradle of her pelvis. She felt soft and yielding, drenched with her own hot juices.

"You know I do." Her hands were at his kilt, which was all bunched up around his hips. "Why are you still wearing this skirt?"

He laughed, although he was barely capable of laughter at this point. He was raising himself to tear the damn thing off when she suddenly turned stiff in his arms. For a moment, he thought she was having another orgasmic contraction, but he quickly realized it was not pleasure she was experiencing now.

Ariane's expression had completely changed. A look of agony came over her and her body curled up into a fetal position.

Had he done something wrong?

"Ari? What's the matter?" He caressed her hunched-up form as tenderly as he could. The sevmelle, he noted, seemed fainter now. "Are you in pain?" He hoped she couldn't hear the panic in his voice. He wouldn't be able to bear it if anything happened to her.

Her eyes had closed, but he could tell she was still conscious. Her heart was racing. Was she having some sort of seizure? "Ari," he whispered, frightened. Should he yell for Ross? He was a vet, but whatever, he had gone to medical school.

She shivered for almost a minute, as if she were experiencing some deep inner turmoil. Then she seemed to gather herself. "I'm fine. I'm sorry. Please don't worry."

Her voice sounded clear. But she was still breathing hard.

"Are you ill? What can I do to help?"

"Not ill. I felt...something. I'm sorry, Colin. I just need a few minutes to think."

"Of course," he agreed, wondering if he ought to leave her alone. Probably. But before he could bring himself to rise and leave her, she said, in a quiet voice, "I would like to negotiate."

"Negotiate?"

"With you and your brothers. About what I am willing to tell you. As a representative of my world and a Traveler of Zanovar."

What the fuck? They had been about to make love, and she wanted to negotiate?

No, he told himself. Negotiation was good. It was certainly better than being tortured by Cameron. He had never expected her to be so strong in standing up to his brother. He'd seen tough guys fall to their knees and wail for mercy when Cam started his intimidation spiel.

You couldn't interrogate a puppy. He hardened himself. If she would actually talk for them, it would make everything so much easier. "I'm listening."

"I just felt something. I think it's Rin. I think he's trying to find me. He's still in this world, Colin. He needs my help. He's injured. Sick. Maybe dying."

So that was why she had gone so stiff and cold. Her pet had contacted her via the mental bond? Okay. That he could understand.

He wanted to comfort her.

He also wanted to kill Rin. It was idiotic, he knew. She loved the animal in the same way he might love a favorite pet.

"If he dies here, in your world, there will be problems," she said. She must have been doing some fast thinking. "I know it's not only your family who patrol your seas and your skies. I've seen the aircraft flying overhead. I've also seen ships out on the horizon. I even saw one of your live reports on that screen-like thing you call the internet. News of events flash around your world in seconds. I admit that I don't understand precisely how that happens...it seems like some kind of magic to me, although Kate assures me it is not."

Kate had been showing her the internet? Damn. Cam was going to freak if he heard that.

"I think that this means there could be many people besides your family and allies who would leap on the news of a dead creature who is not of this world. There would be speculation and maybe an investigation, and—"

"I get the idea," he interrupted. "What do you propose to do about it?" That isn't already being done, he added silently. There was a search on. If she could sense Rin again, he had probably never left this world at all.

"Do you know where Rin is?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not exactly. Nearby, I think. He tried to obey my order to cross to our own world, but I think he was too badly hurt to manage it." She turned over and pushed herself up to a sitting position beside him. "Colin? I need you to help me find him. Save him. Heal him. Your brother—your other brother—is a physician who heals animals, is that not true? I want him to heal Rin."

Colin had no idea whether it was even possible. But if anybody knew how to minister to a sea dragon, it must surely be Ross.

Negotiate. Be hard-assed. "What are you offering in return?"

"I will talk. Answer your brother's questions to the best of my ability. There are a few things I cannot disclose about the training of a Traveler. But the rest—information about my world and about the countries I have visited, that I am willing to share, as long as you swear a sacred oath that none of my people will come to harm as a result of my sharing."

"Our role is not to cause harm, but to prevent it."

"Well, I'm not so sure about Cameron, but I will accept his word on the matter."

"There can be no guarantee that your pet will be healed. We can try. That's all I can promise."

For the first time he saw the desperation in her eyes. "I know. But please try, Colin. I think it's his only hope."

Ross agreed as soon as he heard the proposal. In fact, he looked intrigued at the possibility of examining a sick zrakon. Cam, who returned to the castle that evening, was harder to convince. He tried to lay his own conditions. He wanted to take Ariane away from Mallochbirn and question her in one of his compounds. Colin refused, insisting that this wasn't part of the deal.

The only reason he finally agreed, Colin suspected, was that Ross put silent pressure on him. Now that he could link his own mind to another person's—something his brothers did not know and were never going to find out—Colin could sense when somebody else was doing it. From the expression on both twins' faces, they were engaging in silent debate while Colin waited. But Ross was the eldest and the laird. And eventually Cam gave a slightly resentful nod.

They had a deal.

Chapter 15

Ariane had been right. Colin sensed another sea dragon nearby.

Surely it must be Ariane's pet. He and his brother Ross were, as far as he knew, the only sea dragons in this world, unless there were some in distant oceans.

The other sea dragon was swimming listlessly near the Barrier. Once again, he detected the scent of blood in the water. And something else, something sharp and rank. Infection? Fuck, the animal was not only injured, but his wounds must have suppurated.

"Yes!" Ariane's thought reverberated through his brain, and for the first time ever he resented it. She was overjoyed to find the fucking creature. Colin couldn't account for the ferocious fury that swept through him. He had never felt anything remotely similar in his human form. He couldn't think, couldn't form words in his head. He was plunged into a fever of aggression and rage.

He wanted to attack Rin. Rip him apart. The other sea dragon had no fucking hold on her. She belonged to him now.

Rin must have been confused and scared, because he was sluggish in sensing that they were nearby. And when at last he did, the sea dragon fled. His burst of speed was mighty and Colin shot forward after him.

"Oh no, he's frightened. It's because he senses you're stronger, and he'd be at a disadvantage in a fight. I'm having trouble linking with his mind. I think he's fevered. The only way we can do it is for me to go to him and bond with him. Then I can follow your lead."

She had told him in advance that this was what she was going to do, but he didn't have to like it. Plus, it seemed dangerous, especially if she was having trouble reaching Rin's mind. He didn't want to let her go, especially to the other sea dragon. And it was deep here. The transfer would have to be made quickly, and then she and the other creature would have to surface slowly. If she could control him.

It's risky, he warned her.

"I can do it. I've been swimming with him for two years. I know about deep water and how to manage it. We'll be okay."

Maybe they'd be okay if the creature weren't injured. What if he couldn't give Ariane all the air she needed? What if he couldn't rise to the surface? Fuck. If that happened, he would grab her. Force her back to him. Carry her away if need be. He wasn't going to let her die because of her bond with this...this pet.

"Now," she cried as they came close enough. With great misgivings, Colin released the hold of his pectoral tentacles so she could swim away from him. She moved like quicksilver. She could swim almost as well as a fish, he thought admiringly. She darted to Rin and the great creature shuddered. Colin panicked a little when he realized that the mental link between her and him had been severed. Even though she had told him that she could only manage a single link at a time, he felt desolate at her withdrawal.

When the other sea dragon seized her with a stronger movement than Colin would have thought possible, he felt once against that surge of hot jealous hatred for the creature. He had to fight to prevent himself from attacking the injured monster. It was irrational, he knew, but no one was allowed to touch Ariane except him. His entire brain seemed to have been pumped full of aggressive chemicals that made him envision tearing the other zrakon to pieces and spitting out his entrails all over the ocean floor.

She was with him now. Her face pressed to his breast, his tentacles clutching her close. But nothing else happened. They weren't moving. Colin cursed, blowing out a vicious stream of water. Was Rin too injured to swim? Were they going to be able to surface? Could Ariane breathe? Rin couldn't have taken a breath himself for far too long. Was there any air left?

She had assured him that sea dragons had reserves of air, and he knew that he could sometimes go a lot farther on a single breath than he would have thought, but damn. He hadn't spent anywhere near enough time in this form. And he didn't know enough about his own sea dragon physiology. Ross would probably know, being a vet and all.

The creature dived, which seemed like madness to Colin, since the human body wouldn't be able to withstand the pressure of a deep dive. He arched his body and followed. The idiot was going to kill her. He couldn't permit that.

He was about to give up and grab Ariane back...humans did not have reserve bladders of air, that much he knew for sure, and it had been long enough, when he saw them slowly start to rise toward the surface. The movement seemed controlled, not frantic. But there was still blood in the water from Rin's wounds.

Ten minutes later, to Colin's immense relief, they were swimming near the surface and Rin was following slowly in Colin's wake. When he dived to seek the entrance to the underground channel that led to the cavern, Rin was slow to follow, and Collin, impatient, was tempted to say fuck this we're close enough and snatch his woman back. But the other sea dragon did follow, finally, and after what seemed like forever, they emerged in the cavern pool. Colin shifted as soon as he saw Ariane surface. He swam to her and grabbed her much more roughly than he probably ought to have done. But to his relief, she was smiling,

"Thank you, thank you!" she cried, hugging him. Her body against his instantly sent him soaring into a high state of arousal, but she didn't seem to notice. "He's hurt, but I think, I hope, that with rest and care he will recover. But it was hard at first. I didn't think I would be able to reach him. He was so dispirited. He had resigned himself to dying alone in an unknown world." She clung to his neck, rubbing her head against him like a cat. "Thank you!"

"Um, sure. Glad to help," he said, feeling a little ashamed of himself for his bloody thoughts about killing Rin.

Chapter 16

"What is that? What do you want to give him?" Ariane could hear the frantic tone of her own voice. Rin was so sick. She had thought he was safe as soon as they had coaxed him here into the cavern, but the wounds on his back were festering and his body was sluggish and hot. He seemed barely to have the will to keep himself afloat and his dejection was obvious every time she bonded with him.

"It's a kind of medicine," Colin answered.

"A broad spectrum antibiotic," said Ross. "He is overwhelmed with infection. I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee anything. His labs aren't back yet, so I'm not sure which organism is causing the problem. If he was infected on the other side of the Barrier, the microbes might be different. That's one of the dangers of moving between worlds. We know nothing about what we may or may not have immunity to in a biosphere other than our own."

Although Ariane had had some training as a healer, she didn't really understand what he was saying. Colin must have realized she was confused because he tried to explain while Ross, assisted by his wife Kate, continued to work. They were injecting Rin with something through his hide. As he did so, Ross shot her a grin, saying, "This worked on me once when I got sick in sea dragon form."

"Infections are caused by tiny life forms that you can't see with the naked eye," Colin told her. "They live all around us, on and in us. Usually we control them, but if we're weak or wounded, they can grow faster than our own body's defenses can eliminate them, and we get sick."

"We believe something like that too. That is, our bodies are in balance with nature and our vital energy is strong and able to ward off other less beneficial energies. If the balance is shifted, illness is the result."

"We call that balance homeostasis," Ross said, talking while he continued to work. "The body is a complex mechanism, full of regulating systems. Keeping everything all within normal parameters is how we stay healthy. But in this case, a microbe has gained a hold and multiplied far faster than it can be regulated. Eventually, it is possible that Rin's body would defeat it and he would regain his health. But given how weak he is, we are going to help him do that, by giving him a drug that will kill the offending microbes. Wipe them out and give him a better chance to regulate all his systems."

"If these organisms are too tiny to see, how do you know they're there?"

"Two ways," said Kate. "Some of them can be seen in a microscope, which is an instrument that magnifies something. Ross has one in his lab. I'll show it to you. And for stuff that's still too small to see that way, there are chemical and biological tests you can run that reveal telltale signatures of these organisms. It's complicated. I don't understand it myself."

"Will he survive this?" That was the only thing that mattered to her.

"I don't know," Ross admitted. "But we'll do our best."

With that, she had to be content.

Colin tried to distract her for the rest of the day, but it was hard to relax when Rin was so sick. She insisted on remaining in the cavern for as long as she could. When the tide came in, she went to her companion and joined with him, breathing through the bud when the water came up too high for her to stand. She thought he felt a little better. He could respond to her more easily and his pain seemed to be less. The air she took from his lungs also felt healthier somehow, although she couldn't explain why.

Kate finally persuaded her to leave and get some rest. She slept restlessly, but the next time she checked him, Rin again seemed cooler. Trying to distract her, Kate took her to the library and showed her the incredible collection of books. There were even some in her own languages...the languages of her own world. One in particular was so beautifully illustrated—an illuminated manuscript—that she took it with her back to her room, promising Kate she would be very careful with it.

By the next afternoon, Rin was definitely cooler. Ross came again to check and nodded when she asserted this. "I think so, too. It won't be until tomorrow that we know for sure, but yes, I'd say he's responding. Plus, I got some test results. The organism we isolated is a variant on something we have here, and I'm hopeful the drug will be effective against it."

"Thank you so much. If he lives I will be forever in your debt."

"I'm a doctor," he told her gently. "This is my job, healing animals if I can. You'll owe no debt to me."

The other brother, the one who looked identical to the doctor, was another matter altogether.

He met them in the large central chamber of the main floor of the castle when they came up from the cavern that evening. To Colin, who was at her side, he said, "I understand that the situation with the creature is no longer so dire. I have questions for your friend." The look her gave Ariane was cold. "I've waited long enough."

* * *

This time she answered Cameron's questions. When it became clear that she was willing to speak and that she had useful information about her world to convey, Ariane could see the older brother begin to relax. He was a strange one, she thought, so different from Colin and Ross. She could understand the difference between older and younger siblings—they didn't even look much alike. But it was eerie how different Cam was from Ross, considering that their outward forms were identical.

And yet, she could differentiate them, even without watching their expressions or listening to their different conversational style. They reminded her of a fresco in an old temple in Zanovar. The old man with two faces, one light and one dark. Ross, the healer, always quick with a smile or a jest, was on the light side of the fresco, while Cam was darker. Almost a destroyer, at times.

A nameless dread came over her at that thought.

There was something about him. She wished she could pinpoint what it was, other than vague references to metaphors and ancient frescos.

The interrogation lasted all evening. He finally allowed her to leave the room, which had become gloomy as the sun went down. She ran down to the underground cavern to check on Rin, and was delighted to find him resting comfortably, free of fever and looking much better. Colin found her down there, bathing in the water at Rin's side.

"He's so much better, isn't he?"

"He is! He's going to be fine. I am so grateful to you and your family."

"Ross says he'll need a few days to get his strength back."

Ariane laughed softly. "That's not a problem. I will probably be answering your brother's questions for more than a few days."

"Are you all right, Ari?"

She heard the new note in his voice, and smiled at him. "I think so. Yes."

Rin eyed him balefully as he approached, but Colin didn't care. As she slid out of the pool, her body gleaming with water, he was there to catch her in his arms. "I need to clean up," she protested, but he didn't care about that, either. Ross had been right about the need to obey the call of the sevmelle and take possession of his mate. Not being with her—in her—was getting to be damned difficult.

He pulled her slender body against his, cradling her crown of shining hair in one hand while gliding the other hand down her spine to the small of her back.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he told her. "I want you. You're my mate, and I need you." He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her passionately.

After a moment's resistance—probably from sheer surprise—her mouth relaxed under his and she kissed him back. Her arms went around him and their embrace tightened. Her body softened and molded to his. The tips of her breasts hardened against his chest. When his tongue sought to explore her mouth, she opened more profoundly, and began thrusting with her tongue too. His arousal turned ferocious as their lower bodies ground against each other, his hard and hers softly yielding, instinctively imitating the motions of sex.

"I'm glad. I need this, too." She went up on tiptoes and angled her hips, leaving no doubt about where the yearning was centered.

The hand that had been on her back slipped down to her buttocks so he could pull her more firmly against his pelvis.

"I'm sorry I've been so preoccupied," she said.

"Stop talking and kiss me."

"I am kissing you...oh, Colin, I've been dreaming about this."

He was thrilled by her admission. He wanted to lie down with her right here, but he didn't like the way Rin was hissing at him.

"I know you said you don't have that kind of connection with your pet, but I think he's jealous of me."

"He's feeling vulnerable right now. You can understand that."

"I can, of course. But...he's getting better, isn't he? Can you leave him alone for a while?"

She smiled at him. "I think so, yes."

He noticed once again through the red haze of desire how pretty her eyes were—huge and beautifully colored –with those flecks of gold. Her lashes were thick and dense; the same color as her lovely hair, which today reminded him of a ripe apricot. Her skin was smoother and more delicate than his. It was also deliciously soft. He ached to get her naked so he could touch and kiss her all over.

He forced his mind back to some semblance of rationality.

If you would just give me a few minutes to wash up and change —" Her lips curved up in a sensuous smile "—then I am yours."

He didn't hesitate. He had no idea what was going to happen with Cam and his damn questioning. "I will make a place for us."

"Here?"

Here wouldn't afford them the privacy that he wanted. He was damned if he'd allow that sea dragon to watch them. "Not here. I'd like to invite you to my bedchamber, if that would be agreeable to you?"

"Yes," she said, smiling happily.

His heart expanded, and together they left the cavern. She went to her room to do whatever women do to prepare for a night of love, and he hurried to bring a little order to his quarters.

He wished he had something pretty to give her. A small bedroom in an ancient castle seemed a poor setting for the expression of the feelings he had for her. It had grown into something much stronger than casual lust. He liked and admired her. His brother's threats had also filled him with a strong protective impulse. She was so lost and alone here. He wanted to prevent anything from ever hurting her again.

When he finished ripping off the old sheets and changing them for her, he lit some candles and set them in the corners of the room. He wanted to be able to see her. She was far too beautiful to be shrouded from view in the shadows of the coming night. When all was prepared, he had the inspiration to grab some wildflowers from the vase in the hallway that Kate loved to fill every morning. Ariane had commented on how much she loved the flowers here in Scotland. He sprinkled them on the bedding, adding color and fragrance to the room. He hoped this would please her.

Ariane, smiling, emerged from the stairwell and walked briskly toward him.

She had changed to a lightweight nightgown of some filmy fabric that clung to her curves in a most flattering fashion. Her long wavy hair was loose, and it fell to her waist like a cloud of starlight. His breath caught and his loins grew hot at the realization that she was about to give herself to him. Despite his preparations, it hadn't seemed entirely real.

It had been a long time since he had experienced romantic feelings for a woman whom he ardently desired. The desire to fuck, sure. The need for release—that was a common enough drive. But this was different. Stronger. Scarier.

He was already feeling the kind of urgency that threatened to undermine his control. He did not want to disappoint her by hurrying matters along to another early climax. He wasn't going to let her get him off again tonight without giving Ariane her own pleasure first.

"It's not a fancy room," he said apologetically when she reached his side. "We haven't done any renovations in this part of the castle for a few decades."

She laughed, her face aglow. "It's much more modern than I'm used to, remember?"

"True, I guess."

"Flowers," she said delightedly, kneeling on the bed. "How lovely—thank you, Colin." She gathered a few into a bundle as he bolted the door behind them.

"I have some wine. I know you've been worrying about Rin."

"He's so much better now. And I don't need any wine. Not now, anyway."

She brushed her little bundle of wildflowers across his cheek, which set him off. He covered her hand with his own and took the flowers from her.

"Lie down," he ordered, more sharply than he had intended, but she complied. She lay on her back and smiled encouragingly as he leaned over her and used the bundle of wildflowers to caress her throat, her shoulders, and her breasts. She sighed with pleasure. Her eyes closed and he felt her making the mental link between them. It startled him. They had only done the telepathic bond during his swim with her to the castle on the night they'd met. And again, briefly, when they'd rescued Rin. It had been necessary then, since there was no other way to communicate underwater. But now...was she really going to be in his head while he fucked her?

"It will be all right," she said, sensing his confusion. "I can only feel what you want me to know. Your mind is still private."

He laughed softly, not entirely sure he believed her. But he was willing to try it. Willing to let her in.

Still, the link felt very intimate. It allowed him to feel some of her emotions, which consisted of a heated excitement that acted to raise the temperature of his own arousal. He let his own feelings wash into her, increasing the magnitude of the lust between them. Her lips parted. "Oh!" she said aloud, a soft little gasp. Then, silently, she told him, "I can feel you! I've been wondering what this bond would do if opened in these, uh, circumstances."

It might be too intense. I mean, it's already intense without the link.

"It’s not too intense. It’s exciting, though. You are so beautiful, Colin."

Me? Tis you, my glorious girl, who is the beauty here.

"Thank you! I've desired you from the moment I first saw you. Well, almost the first moment."

He felt her silent laughter—this was something truly wonderful about their bond.

"It did confound me when you shape shifted into a sea dragon with a monster cock. I wasn't at all sure what you meant to do with it."

He moved the tips of the blossoms down over her belly, thrilling to her little shiver of anticipation as he inched it lower. You won't let me forget that, will you?

"Never."

Fair enough. He brushed the flowers between her legs, and she gasped. Let's make some other memories.

Ariane writhed under the subtle teasing of the flowers. She was delighted with Colin's creativity, and exhilarated by the way he had taken control from the moment he had discovered her huddling on the stony shore. She was always dominant with her animal companions, but she was content to let him manage things here. Forcefulness in the bedroom was exciting to her. Colin was not too rough, but he was masterful.

Sit up, he told her, still speaking silently, inside her head, and remove your nightgown for me.

"You must remove your own clothing too."

You first, he insisted, his eyes burning with blue fire.

And so she did, making sure to slither out of her nightgown in the most provocative manner she could manage. She could tell, both from the sound of his breathing and the surge of emotions coming through their bond, that he was fighting to keep himself from falling upon her with no preliminaries.

"Your body is the loveliest sight I have ever seen," he whispered aloud.

He eased her back down on the bedding and began stripping off his own things. She watched with half closed lids, thankful for the candles he had lit. The room was quite dark inside, but the candles cast a warm, soft light. His body was just about perfect—wide shoulders, flat belly, narrow if slightly crooked hips, long arms and legs, all firmly muscled and beautifully shaped. No tattoos. Nothing hiding or obscuring his astonishingly large and erect cock.

She retrieved the small bundle of flowers that he had set down and attempted to tease his rampant penis. Laughing, he stopped her, taking the flowers from her hand. Gently he lifted her in his arms long enough to reverse their positions so he was lying on his back with her on top of him. "If we don't start pleasuring each other I am going to begin howling with need."

"You want pleasure, do you?" Settling herself comfortably on the strong cradle of his thighs, but artfully avoiding his erection, she leaned forward until her breasts were brushing his chest. She stimulated both him and herself by rubbing herself lightly against him there with the aching tips of her nipples. He was exploring her body with both hands, touching her everywhere with skillful fingers that knew how to claim and how to arouse.

In her head he kept up a litany of praise as each new treasure was revealed: Your skin is softer than rose petals…your mouth is perfect…ah, your breasts are so lovely and – pulling her down so his mouth could suck upon them—they taste sweeter than the fruits on the tables of the gods.

"Tell me what you dream of, Colin, and I will give it to you if I can."

Just having you here like this is what I’ve been dreaming of lately.

"Do you dream of this?" she asked, sliding down and lowering her head to take him into her mouth.

Ah, Ari, yes, you know I do. However—

He pulled her up and turned her over. Spreading her legs, he slid down to plant his head between her thighs. He nuzzled her sex, delighting in the tangy juices he found there. Not this time, lass. This time you'll feel the rasp of my tongue inside you.

He kept his word, licking, sucking and teasing her sex so inventively that she had all she could do to keep from screaming loudly enough to wake everybody in the castle.

When at last his fingers moved deeply inside her, she realized he was just making certain she was ready to receive him. She was more than ready, but his fingers lingered, curling and thrusting, slowly driving her into a frenzy. Just as she was beginning to feel frantic for release, his strong arms lifted her and brought her down upon his rigid cock. He had positioned her perfectly.

Now you’re going to take me inside you…all the way inside you, he drawled as the tip of his penis parted her slippery labia. She couldn’t contain a cry as she felt him penetrate to her depths in one powerful thrust. Oh yes…he filled her magnificently…and she loved it.

Ah, my dearest girl, that feels so –

"—so good, so lovely —"

I hope I'm not hurting you?

"No, not a bit, but at this point I wouldn’t care if you were."

He pulled her down so he could kiss her while they moved together, establishing a rhythm, experimenting with different angles of entry, different depths, different tempos. Everything they tried felt wonderful. I want to fuck you hard, Ari. I want to hear you scream.

"Do it. Please."

He complied. Her arousal spiraled even higher to feel him looming over her, her legs spread wide while he drove repeatedly into her core. So you like to feel plundered? Ravaged a little, maybe?

"It is rather thrilling that way."

My pleasure, ma’am. You look so lovely, lying there, open and vulnerable. Makes me want to hurt you a little bit.

He began to do just that, pinching one of her nipples between his fingers, but the pain made her catch fire. Soon he began doing something else as well – using one hand to stimulate her clitoris on each out stroke—that sent her so high that she writhed and arched beneath him in a kind of sensual delirium.

Yes, my girl, come for me, he said at last. Now Ari.

Moaning with delight, she obeyed that command, reaching her peak as he slammed into her, and crying out loudly as the delectable throbbing seized her. Colin groaned and lost his even rhythm. It took only a few more wild, rapid strokes for him to reach his own climax, and then he, too, shouted out.

He shifted her out from under him as soon as they got their sanity back, and she lay pressed to his side with her head on his shoulder while he stroked her gently. The mental link seemed to have slipped away, perhaps during the climax? It was easily remade, though, and his contentment flowed through her.

There was no wondering, did you like that? Was it good for you? She knew it was good and that he had liked it, and he knew the same about her.

This link is amazing, he sent to her after a few minutes of mutual ease and happiness. If everyone could do this, sex wouldn't be the baffling mystery that it so often is.

"When you’re not sure exactly what your partner wants, you mean?"

Yes. Women are hard to figure out, at least for us thickheaded males. I'd wager that's true in your world as well as mine.

She laughed. "You seem to have a good handle on the problem."

Not usually, I don’t. But you are easy to talk to, in a non-talking sort of way.

They lay quietly for a while, relaxing and enjoying the aftermath. She was thinking that it had been a long time for her…there had been no lover in her life for many months. But lying down with Colin felt cozy and natural, as if she’d known him for a long while instead of only a few days. It must be because of their telepathy. It created intimacy in ways that she had never experienced.

"The irony is that before tonight I was unsure about the idea of mixing sex and telepathy," Colin said aloud. "Even shifters don't do that."

"Well, we don't do it in my world, either. It's rather wonderful, though, isn't it?"

"I don't know," he teased her. "Having a woman inside my head when I'm fucking is definitely a little strange. I hope you won't mind when I begin having filthy fantasies."

She began to laugh. "You," she said, grabbing his now-not-quite-so-huge member and giving it what she hoped was a mildly painful squeeze, "have a penchant for teasing that I’ve never noticed before."

"Keep doing that and we’ll be at it again in no time."

She did, and they were.

Chapter 17

After the second time they made love, Ariane dozed for while in Colin's arms. She was always tired after sex, and the intense worry of caring for Rin had made her wearier than usual. When she woke, it was dark; he must have extinguished the candles. She had fallen asleep with her head resting on his shoulder and one of her legs thrown over his hip. He was still holding her the same way, and when she stirred, he stirred also, turning his face to kiss her forehead gently.

"Hullo," she murmured. "Sorry I fell asleep."

"I've been napping a bit myself. Are you hungry? You haven't eaten supper."

She considered. Her belly did feel remarkably empty. "Yes. Thirsty, too." She glided her palm over his chest. "But I could easily grow hungry again for something else."

"Mmm, so could I. I think I'd better go out and fetch us some food, though."

"What time is it?"

"Middle of the night, I think. Folks will be asleep."

"I'll come with you."

"Are you sure? If we run into anyone, we're bound to be the butt of a few good-natured jests."

"Let them have their fun. I don't mind."

It took them longer to get dressed than it should have, since neither seemed to be able to stop kissing and caressing the other, but they finally made themselves decent enough to emerge from their room. Colin took her hand in his as they descended to the main floor, and kept her nestled to his side.

As they passed the room where Cam had questioned her, Ariane felt a chill. She shook herself a little. The door to the room was closed and no lights were on in there, but something cold seemed to emanate from that room.

He was still in there. The twin brother Cameron. Waiting for her to return. He was brooding in there. Planning something.

Mother! She was getting so imaginative. Cam's interrogation actually hadn't been that bad. Once it was clear that she was willing to talk to him, he no longer browbeat her so much. He'd backed off and treated her with a modicum of courtesy.

"You have a seat here," Colin said when they descended the winding staircase to reach the large sitting room. There was a beautiful clear glass window that looked out over the sea. "Get comfy. I'll rustle up some food from the kitchen. Maybe some wine. Here. Put your feet up."

She did, smiling at his solicitude.

But once he had gone, leaving her there in the dim light, she felt that chill again. Something made her look up toward the gallery. And as she did, she sensed something. Heard something. Saw movement.

Cameron came out of the interrogation room. He had been in there, in the dark.

He didn't look down the stairs toward the central hall. She presumed he didn't know she was there, although he might simply be ignoring her. Fine. The more he ignored her, the happier she would be.

She sat still in a huge armchair in front of the window, shielded by its broad back as Cam descended the staircase. Was he coming down to talk to her again? Not now. Not while she was enjoying her time with his brother.

But he walked right past the archway leading into the living room. As he started down the second staircase, the one that led to the outer door, she saw something move on his shoulders. Something dark. She stared, feeling that chill wash through her again. Was there a creature of some sort on his back? A cat? A bird? What in Karth's name was that?

He reached the door and opened it silently. The very air around him seemed to have stilled. As he passed through the door into the night, she heard what she now recognized as the strange bony crack of a shape shifter shifting.

Ariane rose and moved to the window that looked out into the courtyard. She watched Cam as he glided away into the darkness. Near the gateway that led to the island, something dropped away from him. His clothing? His form elongated, became strange, almost hooded. And the thing moving on his back turned into a set of enormous wings.

Ariane stood frozen at the window, her heart pattering like rain on the roof in a thunderstorm.

Cameron had not shifted into a wolf, as Colin said he did.

He had shifted into a darkling.

Chapter 18

"Why are you blocking me, Ariane?"

It was much later, near dawn, and they were back upstairs in Colin's bedroom. But Ariane hadn't been able to relax.

It wasn't the lovemaking. That continued to be wonderful. The same easy meeting of minds persisted as they explored each other's bodies more thoroughly. Ariane loved the way Colin combined great delicacy of touch with his confident sensual demands. He was a gentle taskmaster. He knew what he wanted and didn't hesitate to ask for it, yet at the same time he used the bond to learn what her yearnings were and how best to nurture them.

She liked the balance he established between his needs and her own—he honored both. She knew there were men who cared little for their partners and sought only their own satisfaction, although she had never had such a lover herself. But she had once had the opposite – a young man who was so devoted to pleasing her that he neglected his own pleasure, claiming, not very convincingly, that her satisfaction was all he desired. That relationship hadn’t lasted long – she had quickly grown bored.

She did not think she would ever be bored with Colin.

But she was at a total loss about what, if anything, she should tell Colin about what she had seen as Cam had left the keep.

"Colin, I can’t—"

"I'm not going to press you. You're getting enough pressure from Cam. I'm just wondering why you're so tense."

"It's naught to do with us," she assured him. "I think I'm still trying to adjust to this strange world of yours."

She knew she hadn't convinced him, but he kept his word not to press her.

It had been hard to hide the reason for her stress from him. Blocking took energy, and by the time he fell asleep, blissed out and happy, she was exhausted. On one level, she too was blissed out and happy. On another, she was scared.

She had tortured herself for a while trying to figure whether Colin and everyone in his family were darklings or whether it was just Cam. Was she imprisoned in some demon castle? Were any of them what they seemed to be?

But this extreme paranoia had faded as she'd remembered Kate's warmth and Ross's kindness. As for Colin, she had been inside his head, and unlike her, he did not know how to block or guard his thoughts. Colin was not a demon, and he was telling her the truth when he declared he could only change to two other forms—a wolf and a sea dragon.

The next thing she concluded was that Colin did not know about his older brother's strange ability. Darklings, called vampires here, were hated creatures among the shape shifters of Scotland.

Did Cameron shift to that form because he wanted to? Because he chose it? Or because he could not help himself?

Given that darklings were so reviled, maybe he kept it a secret from his family?

Yet how much of a secret could it be if he left the castle in the middle of the night and shifted right in the courtyard? Over the years, she couldn't have been the only person who had seen this happen.

The scariest thought of all was this one: had it been Cam, in his vampire or darkling form, who had attacked her and Rin on the far side of the Barrier and driven them through? She had never seen a darkling close up before. And she had only caught a quick glimpse of Cam. No doubt if you dealt with darklings on a daily basis you could tell them apart, but what if Cam had been in her world, which he must have been at some time, since he spoke the Common Tongue? What if he had targeted her for some unknown reason and driven her across the barrier to Mallochbirn on purpose?

What did this creature look like? Would you recognize it if you saw it again? That had been one of Cameron's first questions to her. Had he been afraid of being recognized by her?

It didn't really make sense, though. She was a Traveler, yes, but a junior one. She wasn't important. What could he possibly want from her, this intimidating man with all his relentless questions? Had she been brought here specifically to be interrogated? If so, why? She really didn't know very much that was significant.

If he wanted her here, then he must have a plan. By answering his questions, she was playing into that plan. Maybe all the nonsense about how she might be a threat to this world by stealing their technology was really a spin on his own plan to steal something from her world? Or to attack it? To sow chaos? To steal resources?

If she was part of his plan, then wasn't it incumbent upon her to thwart that plan? To prevent him from getting whatever it was he wanted? To escape?

Rin was well now. He still had to regain some strength, but he could swim. If Cam's plan had been to kill Rin and capture her, leaving her with no way back to her own world, then he had failed. She was no longer helpless—a Traveler without a means of Traveling. She could go down to the cavern, hook onto Rin's breathing bud, and have him swim her away from here. She knew where the Barrier was on this side. The mission to rescue Rin had shown her the way.

She could leave.

But...but Colin. Their lovely sex. Their mental bond—two intelligent minds linked together in joyous conversation and laughter.

He didn't seem overly fond of his brother Cam. Maybe she could tell him what she had seen and explain all her fears. Maybe he would come with her. They were mates, after all.

Maybe he would refuse.

He was bound to uphold his Council—he had already made that clear. Neither he nor Ross had liked what Cam was doing to her, but they hadn't stopped it, had they?

She could take Rin and flee. Better still, she could steal some of the medication Ross had given to Rin, that antibiotic stuff that had healed him. There was no medicine so effective in her world. Without that treatment, Rin surely would have died. And if she understood correctly, he still needed to receive the medication for several more days.

She was a spy, here to steal technology. That's what they believed, wasn't it? She had never dreamt of such a thing, but now the idea was in her head.

Could she betray her promise to such an extent? Could she betray Colin, whom she adored? Colin, who was her destined mate?

Oh Mother. Her head was pounding.

Chapter 19

Ariane told herself she was just going down to the cavern to visit Rin. To make certain he was still well. Still gaining strength. Not having some sort of relapse.

And it was so easy to sneak down there. The door to Colin's room was not locked or barred. No one stopped her. The path down to the cavern was complex, but she was a Traveler. If she had taken a road once, she had no trouble retracing it afterwards.

Rin was sleeping when she reached his side. She did not wake him. She sat instead on the white sands of the small beach. The tide was out, so the sands were entirely exposed, if a little damp. Over her head, the crystals shone in a panoply of colored light. The water of the pool moved lazily with the currents from the outside. It must be windy out there. The tide was rising.

There was an orange cat sleeping on the beach, not far from Rin. When she settled down, it strolled over and head-butted her hand. Smiling, she petted the cat, who started purring loudly. Kate had told her about this cat, but it was the first time she'd seen him. The cat named Prince, who liked sea dragons. Had he been making friends with Rin?

She rested her chin on her upraised knees and sorted through her options.

She thought and thought.

"Here you are," said a familiar voice from behind her.

She started violently, surprised at not having heard him approach. Shifters were quiet creatures, too.

She turned and smiled at Colin. He came to her side, treading gingerly over the sharp stones with the shiny crystal edges, clad only in his beloved kilt and a pair of battered half boots that rose up to his ankle. "I woke up and you were gone."

"I was checking on Rin."

"How is he?

"He's good. He's sleeping. Getting his strength back, I guess."

Colin sat down beside her, looking, she thought, a little relieved. Had he been afraid she had abandoned him when he'd woken up alone? She couldn't blame him if he'd thought it. She'd considered it, after all.

She turned to him and planted a passionate kiss on his lips. "Colin. Make love to me?"

His arms closed tight around her. "I'd be glad to."

She prompted pushed him back on the sand and began tearing at his kilt. His eyes flicked sideways. "You mean here?"

"Yes. It's lovely here, don't you think? And the tide won't be in for quite a while, I think."

He flipped them over so he was on top. She could feel his cock, hard and ready to go. She loved that about him—he was so quick to be aroused but so deliciously slow in his love play. "What about him?" he asked, glancing over at the sleeping sea dragon.

She didn't see the problem. "Rin? He's sleeping soundly and I doubt we'll wake him up. If we do, he'll just remember how odd these two legged creatures are and go back to sleep."

"Oh aye." Colin kissed her for a good long while before asking, "So he won't be jealous?"

"Jealous that I'm spending time paying attention to you instead of to him? Or—" She realized from his embarrassed color that he meant sexually jealous. She burst out laughing. "What sort of bond do you imagine a Traveler has with her bonded companion?"

"Still trying to figure it out," he admitted.

"You don't think that we...goodness...I mean, how would that even be possible?"

He was laughing now, too. "Well you'll have to ask Kate about that. Did you ever hear how she met my brother? There's an annual festival here, been going on for centuries. A woman from the village gets sacrificed to the Zrakon. That would be Ross."

"Sacrificed? You mean he kills someone every year?" she was appalled.

"Er, no. Fucks her rather. Nobody dies. Kate came to the village last year and was here on Midsummer's Eve. She attended the festival, but when she understood what was happening, she rescued the supposed victim from the sacrificial rock and ended up stuck there herself. Then Ross, in his sea dragon form that is, took one look at her and was eternally smitten. He seized her, popped her onto his breathing bud, and carried her off. They've been together ever since."

"He abducted her?"

"Aye, he did, the nasty lad. But she was willing enough, in the end."

"But he didn't actually have sex with her? As a sea dragon I mean?"

"Well, no one knows. Except the two of them. I wasn't here at the time, so I just heard about it all later. And then Ross told me that this year I'll have to play the sea dragon role since he's out of the action now and—"

"What! Please tell me you aren't going to do any such thing."

"If I don't, the village women will be mightily disappointed." She could tell he was teasing her now. "Apparently there's something about those tentacles that drives them all wild."

She thought about it. Okay, it wasn't as if she'd never thought about it before, but never seriously. Not with Rin. That would be...eww. She adored Rin, but she loved him the way she would love a cherished pet.

It might be a different story with Colin in his shifted sea dragon form. He would be Colin. They would be linked mind to mind, talking internally and laughing. The tentacles might grow on her in that situation.

He was watching her, looking mischievous, and she realized that she was thoroughly embarrassed just from thinking about it. And she had thought that nothing about sex could embarrass her.

"You're really wicked to get me thinking about stuff like that," she said.

"Oh, I'm wicked, I know. Want me to shift? We could see what all the fuss is about."

"No. I mean, stop it, Colin. You're so evil." He was tickling her and she couldn't stop laughing.

"Not a sea dragon? Well, how about a bit of the wolf? Maybe a little more chest hair, a smidgen of fangy goodness, and then, you know, there's that knotting thing that happens when the male wolf's dick gets stuck inside the female—"

She plastered her mouth on his. "Shut up. You're going to make me start having all sorts of strange fantasies! Shape shifters...may the Mother help us. What kind of world have I fallen into?"

"It's a wicked, wicked world, lassie," he said.

* * *

They returned to Colin's room after their erotic tryst in the cavern. Ariane was feeling a great deal better. Whatever happened, there was no way she was leaving Colin. She adored him.

"That device—the metallic collar that your brother made me put on. What exactly is that?" She hesitated, trying to remember all the new words she had been learning that didn't have precise equivalents in the Common Tongue. "Is it some sort of nuclear device? Or robotic? Or digital?"

Colin burst out laughing. She loved his deep hearty laugh. It made her sex clench no matter how many times he had already pleasured her.

"None of those things. And don't let Cam hear you using those words."

"I have been reading Wikipedia. I guess you don't need libraries in your world, do you? Except for old texts. There is something almost sad about that. What will happen to ancient traditions and wisdom?"

"You'll find it all on your ebook reader, I guess."

"I haven't learned what that is yet."

Colin was chortling hard now. When he finally managed to speak he said, "There are still ancient traditions, especially among us shifters. As for the collar, it's not high tech at all. It's some sort of magic. I think magic is harder to fathom than technology, actually. At least tech makes sense."

"What does it do exactly? I was told it was to prevent a shifter from changing his form, so it shouldn't have had any effect on me. But when I was wearing it, it felt warm. It seemed to be burning me although it left no damage on my skin. I also felt—" she paused not sure how to articulate it. "I felt as if it sapped my will. Not completely. It just made me feel vulnerable."

"Cam'll make anybody feel vulnerable." He paused. "It's a type of slave collar. It is still used in some shifter communities. Some shifters are a lot stronger than others, some have been known to enslave the weak. That's not too common nowadays, but there are criminal groups where such things still happen." He paused and lifted an eyebrow at her. "Then there are the erotic uses of the thing." He slid one hand around her throat, not pressing just holding her there. She felt a flutter in her supposedly-weary sex. "Sometimes, just as a game, I like my partner to feel vulnerable. I like her will to be subject to my control. Does that frighten you?"

She laughed. "We play sex games in my world, too. There is an infamous shop in the city of Binariye where they make some of the most inventive devices. Some of those would make your slave collar seem paltry in comparison."

He flipped her over so she lay under him. He knelt between her thighs and pressed her legs as far apart as their bed would allow. "Tell me more," he ordered as he began tonguing her belly and thighs.

"Well, have you visited any of the pleasure houses in Binariye? They are famous all over my world."

"I've mostly been sea dragony in your world. Exploring the oceans and trying to understand other sea dragons. I've shifted to human in port cities to practice my language skills, hear the gossip and such, and yes, I have visited Binariye. It reminds me of what Istanbul must have been like during the reign of Suleyman the Magnificent. But the pleasure houses? Sadly, no."

"They are called Butterfly houses. Depending on their color—gold, azure, crimson, black—they specialize in different practices. They are artists of sensuality. Wealthy clients, both men and women, contract for their services, depending on which pleasures are dearest to them. It is considered quite acceptable in Sariye, although it's frowned upon in some other countries."

"Have you ever contracted for such services?"

"Alas, I can't afford their prices."

"But if you could, which color Butterfly house would you visit?"

When she told him, he grinned. "I can do that. In fact, I'd love to do that to you. I think there is a good reason why the sevmelle struck us, Ari. Sounds like we're perfect for each other."

Chapter 20

Ariane was nervous the next morning, but she was also determined. So, after breakfast, when Cam imperiously summoned her to his office and Ross was about to leave for his surgery hours, she took Colin's hand in hers and said, "I will come for questioning, as I promised. But today I want the rest of you present, at least at the start."

Cam's eyes narrowed. "There's no need for Ross, who has better things to do. And we've already agreed that your boyfriend isn't allowed to help you in this."

"I don't need help." She looked from one brother to the next. "All I need is the truth. I am being honest with you. Now it's time for you to be honest with me." She stared hard at Cam. "And for that I require witnesses."

"Talked me into it," Colin said, standing.

Ross and Cam exchanged a look. Then Ross stood also. "It is a reasonable request," he decreed.

Cam scowled, but Ariane sensed that he had no idea of the trap she intended to spring on him. Either that, or he just didn't care.

"Will you come, too, Kate?" Ariane asked. "And will you bring that book you showed me the other day. The one in the language you couldn't make out?"

Kate's eyes met her levelly. She might not be a shape shifter or a Traveler or any sort of magical creature, but Kate had insight and she was clever. There was a gleam in her eyes as she said, "I'll dash upstairs and get it. Well. Perhaps I won't dash exactly," she added, patting her full belly, "but I'll be quick about it."

"Let me get it, whatever it is," said her husband.

"No, I need the exercise. I'll be right back."

"Don't you dare run on the stairs," he called after her.

"Don't be silly; of course I won't," Kate's merry voice called back.

A couple of minutes later, they all trooped to the room that Cam was using as his interrogation chamber. Instead of sitting in the straight back chair where he usually made her sit, Ariane placed herself behind it. "You, sir," she looked at Cam. "Please sit here."

"Why?"

"I have a question to ask you before we proceed."

"You're not the interrogator here."

She glanced at Colin and Ross. "Gentlemen. Please make your brother sit."

Ross looked amused. Colin looked a tiny bit vicious. They both took one of Cam's shoulders and slammed him down into the seat.

"Very good," said Ariane. She grabbed the iron and silver collar that was sitting on the top of his table. It was for this reason that she had insisted they come to this room. Before anyone could make a comment, she snapped the heavy thing on Cameron's neck. She grinned at her success. Travelers were trained to be rapid in their movements.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"This will prevent you from shape shifting, am I correct?"

"So? We all know I can shape shift. I'm a Malloch. We put it on you because we did not know whether you could."

"And you wanted to restrain me in case I did, correct? A wise idea, I'm sure, especially if you don't know what creature you are dealing with. How powerful he might be. Or how evil."

Cam was looking decidedly uncomfortable now. As was Ross, she noted. Colin still looked vicious...she liked that look on him; it was hot. And Kate was clearly puzzled, but amused. Ariane got the feeling that she wouldn't mind seeing her husband's twin get his comeuppance.

"I am told that you shift into a wolf, like everyone else in your family. True?"

"True. So what?"

"I don't think everyone knows what else you shift to?"

"A crow," Cam said coolly. "I fly high and my eyesight is remarkable."

Colin said, "I didn't know that. Did you know that, Ross?"

"I didn't," said Kate. "Does that account for all the cawing I hear around the castle whenever you're in residence?"

Ross no longer looked amused. "What is the point of this inquiry, Ariane?"

"You're a rather large crow, aren't you? Quite a wingspan. And you have an unquenchable taste for blood?"

Cam bounded out of the chair. Or at least he tried to. Both his brothers seized him and held him there. When he ripped at the magical collar, Colin jammed his hand around his brother's throat to prevent him from removing it.

"I saw him last night. He didn't know I saw. I have exceptional eyesight too. He was leaving the keep in the dead of night. Going to hunt, I surmise." She met Colin's eyes. "Your brother shifts to a darkling. What you call a vampire. He may even have been the same one who attacked me and Rin and drove us through the Rift."

"Fuck," muttered Ross.

"Is this true?" Colin asked in an icy tone, tightening his grip on Cam's throat.

"Is that even possible?" Kate asked in a small voice. "I thought vampires and shifters were mortal enemies?"

"It is true. What's more, I think maybe it has always been true. That book, Kate, the one I asked for. You couldn't read the language it's written in because that language is not of your world. You said it looks like something in...what...Turkish?"

"Ottoman Turkish, yes. That's what I thought. Or maybe Persian."

"It is Saric. Ancient Saric, which is why it took me a while to translate it. I speak modern Saric pretty well, though. I did my apprenticeship at the Traveler's Tower in Binariye, the capital city of Sariye."

Cam's face had turned red and he was having some trouble breathing. "That's enough, Colin," said Ross. "This might be a shock to the rest of you, but not to me. Let him go."

"You might have thought to tell me that your twin brother is a vampire," said Kate.

Colin had jerked his hand away, although he looked none too pleased about it. Cam coughed a few times, and then managed to say, "I'm not dangerous. At least, not to any of you." He looked up at Ariane. "And it wasn't me who attacked you in the other world. I doubt it was a shifter. It was probably a true darkling. A vampire."

"So you're admitting it!" Colin looked as if he might grab him again.

"Yeah, I'm fucking admitting it. I'm surprised you never noticed. Ross has known for years."

"What does the book say about this?" Kate asked. Ariane had noticed before that she often interjected a few words when things got hot among the brothers. It must be quite something, living among so many alpha males.

Kate handed her the book and she opened to the relevant section. "It's about the two gods of an ancient religion. They were twins, one the god of light, the other the god of darkness. That's not unusual—I'm sure you can find parallels in many religious traditions both in your world and in mine. But when I read this part, I thought it was interesting because it reminded me of what Colin had just told me about the Zrakon's curse. I'll translate, shall I?

She didn't wait for their response, but began translating at once:

"And lo, it came to pass that there was a great conflict, a war among the tribes of man. And the magnificent god of light let loose his dragons on the world and they did burn and slaughter all the wicked. And yea, they burned the good and innocent as well, even to the babes at their mother's breasts. For all creatures had fallen so deep into hatred and envy that it was no longer possible to tell the wicked from the good.

"And then the god of darkness was jealous of his brother's ferocious power. He swept over the fields and the orchards, the rivers and the streams, the oceans and the skies and rained ice and snow down upon the fires, extinguishing them. And he sucked the blood from any who were yet alive. So all died, good and wicked, either by fire or by blood.

"But the Mother Creator was not pleased, for she had given life to all that they might prosper and multiply. With all her creatures dead, she had to labor and toil to recreate the spark of life and spread it across the worlds. Her anger was such that she condemned the twin gods to suffer for their harshness and their arrogance. The creatures of the god of light who rules the skies she plunged into the sea to extinguish their fires for all eternity. And the creatures of the god of darkness she doomed to crave the blood of the living even when there was no life to be found. Forever must they hunt and never quench their thirst. And thus was her curse perpetuated throughout the generations of man and beast."

She looked up from the book. "Sound familiar?"

They were all staring at her, with varying expressions.

"You say the Mallochs birth twins every few generations, right? And one is a sea dragon shifter. Is the other a darkling? Er, vampire?"

It was Cam who answered her. "There is some evidence of that, yeah."

"So is this the Zrakon's curse?" asked Kate. "Dragons doomed to the sea and vampires doomed to crave blood?"

"All for causing a mass extinction event," Ross said. "I guess that's as good a reason for a curse as any."

"It's just a story," Cam said. "A metaphor."

"I don't have a twin, and I'm a sea dragon," Colin offered.

"You probably strangled your twin in the womb," snarled Cam. "Maybe you should seek your inner vamp the way you sought your inner sea dragon and leave me the fuck alone." He ripped off the collar. "Are we through?"

* * *

"I don't think I'm ever going to forget the look on Cam's face when you exposed him," Colin said that night when she and he tucked themselves into bed together.

"I doubt he'll ever forgive me."

"Well, it is rather awkward for the head of the Council of Protectors—that's a shifter organization—to turn out to be a shifter vampire. I didn't even know there were shifter vampires."

"Ross wasn't surprised."

"Yeah, I know. That was kind of a relief to me. If he knew about it and didn't worry about having Cam in the same house with his wife and about-to-be born baby, I guess we can trust that Cam isn't going to sneak up on any of us in the middle of the night and drain our blood."

"Kate was looking a little worried, though."

"Poor Kate. Good thing she's sensible. She's an ordinary girl who has married into one helluva freaky family. Good thing you're a bit of a freak yourself, huh?"

"Why? Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Shit, lassie, we've only been shagging for a few days! Now you wanna get married?"

She laughed. "I'm not the one who declared us to be eternal mates."

"Yeah, well," He took her palm and held it to his. The sparks fizzled between them, creating a small brilliance in the dark room. "We'll have to have a hand fasting first. That's Scots for betrothal. Some folks consider it a rightful marriage, especially among us shifters."

"I don't care about marriage, but I do love you, Colin Malloch Sea Dragon."

"And I love you, Ariane Traveler."

Chapter 21

"Colin?" Ariane whispered a few days later.

"Mmm?"

"Now that Rin is getting better, I would like to take him back to his own world."

His eyes came open with alarm. He knew he didn't need to be jealous of Rin as any sort of sexual partner, but maybe he still was jealous of the mental bond that the two of them had had for so long.

"He can't stay here," she went on. "There are no sea dragons here. He needs to be with others of his own kind. Especially now."

"Why now?"

"He is young, but he is reaching his sexual maturity. He will desire a mate. And, as you know, the lust of a sea dragon for his mate is a powerful thing."

"Oh aye," he said, kissing her neck and pinching her nipple until she squeaked and threw one leg over his thigh.

"Don't try to distract me," she laughed.

"Well, how is Rin going to feel about being separated from you? And from his new friend Prince the cat?"

"It's hard for both of us, but it's part of a Traveler's life. I originally trained with a mammoth eagle. He and I were together for over a year. But we can't keep these animals for too long or they cease to be able to survive among their own kind. "

"Ah. I didn't know that."

"In fact, when this whole thing began, I was on my way to visit Liril, my teacher. She lives in a community of sea dragons, with the male whom she has been attached to for years."

Colin hooted. "Attached to? Are you saying she is a sea dragon's mate? I thought you didn't go in for that sort of thing in your world."

"Good thing I'm in this world, then, since I'm mated to someone who's half sea dragon!"

"Yeah, but we don't, you know, do interspecies sex." He loved to tease her about this. "But of course, we could. I suspect my tentacles have great potential to give pleasure."

She giggled, but kept trying to be serious. "I don't know exactly what Liril's relationship to her companion involves. She sees herself as a scholar who studies the sea dragons. She gets as close to them as possible to understand how they live. She draws them and writes about them in the detailed journals she's been keeping for years."

"Maybe her special companion is a shifter like me."

"Maybe. Anyway, Rin is a relative of Liril's sea dragon companion. She requested long ago that he go to live with her colony when he retired from Traveler duty. I was taking him there when we were attacked by the darkling."

"I didn't realize that. So you and he were about to be separated?"

"Yes. We were both sad about it. I was fond of Rin and he of me, so we didn't want our partnership to end."

"And now?"

"Now it's different. First I thought I had lost him, but then I found you. So it has all worked out. Funny how that happens, isn't it? When we least expect it, we find joy."

"If you take Rin to your old teacher, I'm coming too. At least you won't have to train a new sea dragon."

"Are you saying you want to go with me to my world?"

He laughed. "Aye, I guess so. Some folks have to decide whether to maintain their residence in London, Edinburgh or the Highlands. How many have to choose between two fucking separate worlds?"

"Good thing you love to wander."

"Good thing you love to Travel."

They kissed. The kiss quickly escalated. It was a long time before Colin, deeply happy and fulfilled, remembered to ask, "So why was your mentor dismissed from the Travelers?"

"She runs a sea dragon breeding program. That is, the sea dragons mate of their own accord, but she encourages certain matings. She's a bit of a matchmaker."

He laughed. "Don't tell Kate. I'll wager that's something she would love to do for shifters. She's always trying to fix up my younger sister and brother. She could start a website or something."

"The breeding program has been going on for generations. It's not a Traveler thing, officially, but there are several retired Travelers associated with it. Anyway, Liril got into trouble when one of her experiments produced an odd result. A sea dragon was born who wasn't a sea dragon."

"Meaning what?"

"He was a regular dragon. With wings and the ability to fly. And a growing tendency to emit flames."

Colin snapped to attention. "Are you serious? A sea dragon who defied the Zrakon's curse?"

"Perhaps. But he sickened and died at a young age, so it was never proven."

"Maybe he was some sort of genetic freak?"

"I don't know. But Liril was criticized for doing unsanctioned experiments, which wasn't even true. The breeding that produced the dragon was a natural one, and a surprise to everyone in her group. Now she operates outside the auspices of the Travelers, which gives her more freedom, but also puts her at risk. There are people in the world who would love to get their hands on a Traveler, especially an ex-Traveler who no longer enjoys the protection of the Guild."

"Did you share any of this with Cam?"

"No. It's Traveler business. I shouldn't even be sharing it with you."

"My lips are sealed."

She pressed her face against his. "Sealed with a kiss?"

He laughed. "Sealed with a shag, if I can get any energy back, you insatiable, unearthly woman!"

* * *

"So," Colin announced to the family the next day at breakfast. "Ari and I have made a decision."

"I haven't finished interrogating her," Cam objected.

Shooting a cold look at Cam, Colin added, "One that doesn't involve any more harassment of the woman I love."

"Oh please. You've only spent a few days with her."

"Cam—" Ross said warningly. "Enough."

"I doubt you will ever experience the bond or the sevmelle yourself, brother," Colin said, "But you'll just have to take our word for it that it is instant, unbreakable, and permanent."

Cam rolled his eyes.

"We're leaving. Nothing against any of you, but it's our nature to wander. Hers, and mine. I could take her away from here on one of my treks. There are plenty of places in this world that I haven't yet visited. Most of Africa. A good portion of Latin America. I've always wanted to walk the Silk Road, but given how many countries it crosses where there is war flaring, I haven't made that journey yet. And there's Antarctica waiting, too."

"Forget that," snarled Cam. "I need you here. We need you. You're too powerful a shifter. You promised me you would settle down and do some work for me instead of wandering all over the fucking globe."

"Fine. I will work for you. But I'm not giving up my explorations, and Ariane is a Traveler. Like me, exploring is what she does."

"If you think I'm going to greenlight a fucking alien wandering around in this world—"

"Actually, Ari and I will wander, but not here. She wants to go home. She wants to take Rin home. I want to explore. We will go together back to her world. I will learn everything I can about that place. And, occasionally, if you're a good lad and leave me the fuck alone, I will send you a report."

It would be tempting, Colin knew. Colin had never officially worked for Cam in the other world, and he had kept many of his observations to himself. Of course, it was just as forbidden for him to wander around in her world as it was for her to explore his, but Colin was counting on Cam's need to have information and some semblance of control. He had seen the way his brother's eyes had lit up at the idea of "reports" from another world. He certainly didn't want the people in Dunya to find out too much about Earth, especially all her high technology. But the reverse? Cam wouldn't be able to resist having his own personal spy in that world.

"Are you sure about this?" Ross asked.

"Yes. Ari has family who will be missing her." He paused. "She has a life there. And I am willing to make my life wherever hers is."

"You have family here," Ross pointed out.

"I will return periodically. I'll probably see you guys just as often as I would if I did my wandering here in our world."

"We don't know for certain that the gateway will remain open. You might leave here and never be able to return."

"How likely is that? There's been a Rift near Mallochbirn for hundreds of years, if not a good deal longer. I am one of the few people who can locate it." He paused again. "We do know something of Dunya, remember. How do you suppose we got that information? I suspect I won't be the first Malloch to go through the Barrier and report back something of what the other world is like. And who knows, maybe if there really are the Nine Worlds that the Travelers speak of, I will learn how to get access to some of the others, too."

He could see Cameron's eyes gleaming, speculating, planning.

"We need to know about the darklings. Just because I can shift to one doesn't mean I understand vampires. Are they identical to our vampires or different? There's clearly something going on with those creatures if they are hanging out at the Rift and manipulating people into crossing. They are dangerous, though. I wouldn't want you to get too close. Just find out what you can about them and what the fuck they are up to."

Colin smiled. He and Ariane were going through the Barrier to her world.

They were going to be together.

* * *

They performed the hand fasting ritual on the day before they left. Down in the crystal cavern, with Rin and Prince the cat looking on, Ross wound an old piece of the traditional Malloch clan tartan, whose colors had been banned after Culloden, around the joined hands of Colin and Ariane. Hamish played upon his bagpipes, Mrs. Dumfries beamed, Jamie and his betrothed Effie danced and Kate laughed, insisting that she could feel her baby doing a Highland jig in her belly. Even Cam managed a few smiles when the local whiskey went round.

"Thank you so much," Ariane said to Kate, hugging her. Her English was becoming fluent, although she was sure she must have a dreadful accent. "I'm sorry I won't be here for your babe's birth."

"You'll come back to visit us, though."

"We will, yes."

"Be bloody careful, Col," Ross warned. "I don't want to have to swim through to rescue you from some medieval dungeon where they imprison their captured spies."

"I'm an explorer," Colin said with a straight face. "Not a spy."

"Keep him safe, Traveler," Cam growled, after a quick embrace of his younger brother.

I love my family, but I'm bloody relieved to get away from them, Colin admitted via the Traveler's bond as he and Ariane swam towards the Barrier. Rin, now fully restored to health, followed them. He seemed reconciled to the separation from Ariane and happy about the prospect of meeting some females of his species. Want big love, he had told her. Like you. Miss my cat. Can have cat in our world?

"Most cats hate water, Rin, so I don't think so. Maybe you'll find a mate and have a baby sea dragon instead."

Baby sea dragon, Rin agreed, as if that might be an acceptable substitute for a cat.

"Rin wants a cat," she told Colin. "But he'll take a baby sea dragon instead."

Colin laughed. The thought of a baby sea dragon sounded good to him, too. Would any child of his and Ari's be a shifter? In his own world, probably, but in hers, he didn't know.

Bairns? Was he seriously thinking about bairns?

Why not? Having his own family would be a whole new territory to explore.

Hang on tight, he told Ariane, closing his tentacles firmly around her. It's not as nasty going in this direction, but the Rift is always a bit turbulent.

It was dawn in Dunya when they broke through, all three of them safe and sound. The sky was sunny, the seas were calm, and there was not a darkling in sight.

O brave new world, that has such people in't!

"What's that?"

"Shakespeare."

"What is Shakespeare?"

Colin laughed and explained. He looked forward to a lifetime of learning—he about her world, and she about his.

The End

Author's Note

The Scottish Shifters novels are about the Mallochs of Mallochbirn, a fictional location in the Highlands of Scotland. The books are related, but each romance is a standalone. They can be read in any order. The Zrakon's Bride, Ross's story, was the first to be published. Several more books are planned.

Ross's story: The Zrakon's Bride (available now)

Beauty Meets Her Beast

Are maidens still sacrificed to sea dragons? Kate Beaton is a lover of folklore tales about beauties and beasts, maidens and monsters, princesses and frogs. But when she visits a quaint Scottish village, she is surprised to find that they take the ancient legends seriously.

Ross Malloch is a modern Highland laird with a family secret—there have been shape shifters at Mallochbirn for centuries. The Zrakon is in his blood. And on Midsummer's Eve, the only thing his alpha male sea dragon can think about is finding his one true mate.

The Zrakon's Bride is a short, erotic paranormal romance from Rita award-winning romance author Linda Barlow. It is intended for mature audiences.

Excerpt from - Chapter One

Ross stood on the ancient battlements of Mallochbirn Castle, looking out over the churning waters of the sea. The day was stormy and warmer than usual. Humid. The skies were leaden and heavy with rain. His eyes searched the rocks, the crags, the distant headlands, and, most of all, the rough, white-capped waters surrounding his tiny island in northwest Scotland. "Come to me," he murmured, over and over. "I summon thee. Come."

The words were spoken without his volition. Oh, he knew he spoke them, and understood their meaning, but it wasn’t his rational mind that had driven him up into the tower and out to the crenellated battlements. He spent most of the year resisting all thought of the ancient legends of Mallochbirn. Yet here he was, following the dictates of the tale, like many a fool before him.

How many generations of his family had stood here, on the worn stone, sending their souls out of their body, restlessly questing, seeking something they yearned for but could not name? He glanced up at the great stone dragon, symbol of Mallochbirn and his family, carved in weather-smoothed basalt atop the highest tower. His dragon. His doom.

A loud crack of thunder jolted him. Idiot, he said to himself. He stood there for some time longer, buffeted by the wind, watching the storm sweep in from the sea. Jagged bolts of lightning lit up the sky, and the air sizzled with the power of the raging elements. He knew he ought to go inside instead of making himself a target for the lightning, but some defiant spirit kept him there, absorbing Nature’s ferocity.

His vision, sharper than usual, caught an unusual movement on the causeway that led to the island. The gravel roadway there had an inch or two of surf breaking over it. The tide was receding, but the winds had whipped up waves, and causeway wouldn't be safe until the water backed off completely. He leaned forward over the retaining wall, trying to get a better look. No cars were allowed on the island. What fool was attempting to drive over?

Nobody local would even dream of doing such a thing. Particularly on this day of the year—the morning of Midsummer's Eve. It must be someone who did not belong on the island or in the village. A stranger. But this was a place where strangers were not allowed.

Ross stalked into the tower and down the long, winding staircase that led to the main part of the castle. He wished someone had installed an elevator. Maybe it was time for a few more renovations around here.

He caught the intruder getting out of the car on the narrow stony beach where the end of the causeway met the rocks of the island. The dark-clad figure was considerably shorter than Ross was, but not until he slipped behind and applied the edge of a fine Scots dirk to a slender throat did he realize the intruder was female.

She tensed, but did not panic. "Whoa," she said.

"Reckless to be disregarding all the signs," Ross said. He was trying to stay loose, ready for anything. The intruder was clad in light clothing suitable for a cool summer in northern Scotland. His dirk was probably unnecessary, but he wasn't fool enough to underestimate her because of her sex. "If you were to drown, no one would be surprised."

"A slashed throat would be investigated," said the intruder—American, by her accent.

"You’d be surprised at the injuries than can be inflicted by some of the razor-sharp rocks hereabouts. Who are you?"

"My name’s Catriona Beaton. People call me Kate. And you are?"

"Angry. Trying not to be careless with this blade, but no guarantees. I’d advise you to remain still, like a mouse." He patted her down efficiently with one hand and found nothing. Except some appealing curves.

"Hey, I’m harmless," she protested.

Ross turned her loose with a shove and sheathed his blade.

She straightened and rubbed her neck. Ross estimated her to be somewhere in her twenties, with dark hair, regular features, and a strong, fit body. The young woman's dark hair was swept up in an intricate style with little wisps of curl framing her features. One lock, though, had escaped its confinement to drift haplessly down the side of her throat. Her eyes were the light, clear green of sun-drenched tropical seas. They were rimmed with dark, soft lashes and arched with feathery eyebrows to which he would love to touch the tip of his tongue. She had a stubborn chin and distinctly kissable lips. Those lips were arched up in a smile.

"Are you the owner of this place? Mr. Malloch?"

"This place and most of the surrounding land, aye. You’re trespassing."

"Sorry about that. I was hoping to meet the laird." She was gazing curiously at the knife he had sheathed in a leather casing on his belt. "Do you always wear a sword? Isn't that a little anachronistic?"

"It's a dirk. It's useful for confronting gatecrashers. You're lucky your car wasn't swept out to sea. What you did is not only forbidden, but also dangerous."

"Forbidden?"

"No cars are allowed on the island. That's one reason why the causeway isn't paved." He gestured to the stony dirt road that was becoming visible as the surf continued to retreat. The local vicar's orange cat was prowling near the water line, looking impatient. He must have crossed to the island at low tide and gotten stranded here. He fussed over that cat occasionally, which he probably shouldn't do, since it encouraged him to visit.

"There aren't many cars in the village, either," he added. "We don't like to pollute our pristine sliver of Scotland with modern chemical fumes."

"I noticed. The whole village seems anachronistic," she said cheerfully. "Or have I stepped through a time warp into the past?"

She had an engaging smile and a pleasant way about her. He had to school himself to resist her charm. "Why are you here?"

"I've come to speak to the laird. I emailed, but received no reply. Is email another of the modern conveniences you disdain, Mr. Malloch?"

She was clearly guessing, but he decided not to deny his identity. "I'm not receiving guests. The tide is falling, so it should be safe enough for you to turn your car around and return to wherever you came from."

"I came all the way from Boston. You know—far off in the New World?" She grinned at him.

"Why? What do you want here? Few people in the States have ever heard of this place."

"Well, actually, I'm curious about a dragon."

Ross tensed. "A dragon," he repeated, injecting as much disdain into the word as he could muster.

"Right. Big, scaly, fire-breathing. You know the type. Have any large flying creatures incinerated anyone lately?"

He managed a laugh. "Are you writing a fantasy novel?"

"A book on folk tales, actually. You'd be amazed at how many there are, especially in the British Isles. It’s a folklore treasure trove." She paused, looking at Ross as if sizing him up. Or maybe checking him out. "Most of the villages and towns with magical or mystical legends are proud of them. Such stories tend to bring in the tourists."

"We don't encourage tourists here."

"That's the odd thing about this area—there’s no Dragon’s Inn or Firebreathers pub. No website dedicated to re-telling the old legends. No ballads to commemorate the heroes, assuming there were any. In my experience, that’s unusual. Most people are proud of their dragons. Why aren’t you?"

"No idea. Maybe this dragon of yours gobbled up all the balladeers, innkeepers, publicans, heroes, and website developers who knew about him, thus preserving his anonymity." He paused. "If the legends don’t exist, what are you doing here?"

"The legends do exist. Great stories—very imaginative. Heroic battles, virgin sacrifices, the dragons punished by the gods for their destructiveness. My favorite has the hero driving the dragon from the skies and extinguishing his fires in the sea. But the beast turned into a sea dragon and stole the hero's lover away to a watery lair deep under some island fortress." She looked up at Mallochbirn Keep. "Rather like this place."

This woman was going to be trouble. "Sounds as if you stopped by the pub for some of our fine single malt before heading over here."

She gave him a big grin. It was all too appealing, and he felt something move inside him. This was all he needed on Midsummer's Eve—an attractive woman stimulating all the passions that he was trying to keep contained.

She lifted a hand to her hair, which was blowing in the brisk wind. The thunderstorm must have moved off, though, since the sky was brighter. It looked as if the sun might even break through. Kate Beaton attempted to knot her thick hair atop her head, but long silky strands kept escaping. Laughing at her futile efforts, she abandoned the attempt, and loosed her glorious hair. Ross imagined it flowing over his bare chest and tangling in his fingers while he fucked her.

Lust rose with a clamoring din. Looking into her eyes he felt his consciousness slide and his awareness deepen. Something that was sleeping stirred. It perked up its head and took a good hard look. He flashed back to the high tower at Mallochbirn where he'd stood on the ancient battlements looking out to sea. Had it been she whom he'd been summoning? Was that why she was here?

For centuries, the Mallochs had been known as the dragons of Mallochbirn, and dragon lore pervaded the region. The original Mallochbirn Dragon had been the traditional flying, fire-breathing variety, but somewhere down the centuries, the creature had been banished from the skies to the seas. By tradition, the sea dragon was bound to the lord. In some versions of the tale, the lord of Mallochbirn actually was the creature—half man, half beast, shifting back and forth at unpredictable intervals.

Particularly on Midsummer's Eve.

Family legend held that in every generation, the Laird of the Isle must take a mate, produce an heir, and bind the dragon to its future master. And so it had happened, for too many centuries to count. The direct line of descent had never been broken. If an heir was not lawfully begotten in the marriage bed, the lords of Mallochbirn had never hesitated to legitimize their bastards. Supposedly, the dragon’s drive to beget an heir on whichever woman could produce one was far too powerful to resist.

Ross could not deny that for the past few weeks he had been feeling a strong compulsion to find himself a woman for something more than the occasional fuck. And as he looked down at the lovely female standing opposite him, something deep in the heart of him hissed: This one. I want this one.

He was oddly transfixed by her mouth. And her scent—it was light, heathery, and incredibly alluring. Once again he felt the beast inside him stir, more insistently now. His muscles hardened to stone and his jaw clenched as he resisted. What he felt was very focused. She is for me. Take her. I want her.

She was young—not more than early twenties, he guessed. A bit young for a thirty-year-old reprobate like him.

They tend to come that way. Brides. Young.

Brides?! What the hell was he thinking?

She was continuing to speak: "You’ll have to admit, dragon legends make exciting tales. My Gramma Molly used to tell them to me when I was little. It was she who urged me to investigate my roots in Scotland."

Shit. The last thing he needed was some American girl prying into the island's strange history. For her own sake, he had to get rid of her. If the beast inside him got just a little more aroused and interested in this girl, she would be in considerable danger.

She needed to leave. Quickly. Before tonight.

* * *

The Zrakon's Bride is currently available at all ebook retailers. For more information about this novel and all my other books, please check out my website at http://www.lindabarlow.com

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Linda's Bio

Linda Barlow is the bestselling author of 24 novels, with more on the way, including a new novel in the Scottish Shifters series. She lives in New England with her mysterious spouse (who sleeps during the day, which has often made her wonder if he's a vampire) and their equally enigmatic and nocturnal cat.

Her novel Leaves of Fortune won the Rita Award and Fires of Destiny was a finalist for the same award. She loves reading, writing, computer games, and dark chocolate.

To Tame A Highlander

Highlander Werewolf Romance

By Adriana Hunter

Copyright © 2014, Adriana Hunter

All Rights Reserved.

Published by Tangled Press

http://www.AdrianaHunter.com

Join Adriana’s readers newsletter at http://www.SpicyTales.com for upcoming releases, giveaways, swag and more!

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and places are solely the product of the author’s imagination.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, including events, areas, locations and situations is entirely coincidental.

Callum McCourt ran, heart hammering in his chest, feet pounding the cracked concrete of the alley crowded with dumpsters and piles of garbage. The last thing he wanted was to be caught here, in a strange city, alone. But he was, cut off from anyone who could help him. He was exhausted, the adrenaline fueling him earlier long gone, and now he was running on empty.

The footsteps of his pursuer echoed against the brick of the buildings that rose above him, joined by the sound of a second, and then a third person running toward him. Panic flooded Callum’s veins and he pushed himself, lungs burning, heart thundering in his chest.

The alley turned sharply to the left and he rounded the corner and then skidded to a halt. The alley ended in a brick wall. Callum ran up to it, hands on the brick, searching for any kind of handhold. Even though the bricks were old, they were smooth, the mortar between them solid. He looked up at the windows above. Some were lit, some dark and abandoned-looking, but all of them were too high for him to reach. Even the rusted metal fire escape was too high. He swore under his breath.

Behind him the footsteps suddenly stopped, but Callum knew better than to think they’d given up the chase. He turned, rain pelting his face, his back pressed against the dirty bricks, and faced his attackers.

Two wolves, eyes gleaming yellow in the darkness, blocked the entrance to the alley. Behind them stood a single man, hidden in the shadows and driving rain. A flash of lightening lit the alley and Callum briefly caught the hard glint of the man’s eyes before the wolves demanded Callum’s attention. The wolves advanced, stiff-legged, hackles raised, fangs bared, cutting off his escape.

Callum had no choice if he wanted to live. Before the wolves got any closer he shut his eyes, the ancient power of his kind rising up inside of his body, filling him with primal energy. He braced for the brief intense pain he hated—and loved—to fill him. Then he dropped on all four paws to the ground.

He faced the wolves, one a shaggy gray, the other with a matted yellow coat, for a brief instant. Then Callum let loose with a terrifying howl of rage, the sound rippling from his throat. The two wolves hesitated for a split second and Callum grabbed the advantage and charged.

The shaggy gray wolf took a step back and Callum veered away from him, hitting the yellow wolf low, knocking it off its feet. It sprawled on the ground, kicking out, catching Callum with its sharp claws, slicing open his underbelly from neck to back legs. The sickening scent of blood filled the air, hot and heavy, and Callum could taste it on the back of his tongue. That it was his own blood filled him with rage.

The gray wolf recovered and charged, its jaws closing down on Callum’s shoulder. Callum struggled, snapping at the wolf with his fangs, but he wasn’t able to reach it. The wolf twisted its head, tearing Callum’s flesh with its teeth. Callum howled, thrashing in the wolf’s grip.

Yellow light suddenly spilled down into the alley from above. “Hey, damn dogs! Get out of the fucking alley!” A beer can came hurtling down, bounced off a garbage can, rattled the lid, and then rolled into the shadows.

The wolf clamped on Callum’s shoulder released him, skittering away into the shadows. Callum scrambled to his feet, claws scratching across the pavement. He looked up at a man in a dirty white t-shirt glaring down at them from an open window.

In a split second, Callum made the decision that would either save his life or end it. He shifted quickly, letting his body go limp, falling to the dirty pavement in his human form. From the cold pavement he looked up, saw the man staring open-mouthed from his window.

“Holy shit! Jackie, call 911. The damn dogs attacked a man in the alley!” The face disappeared and Callum closed his eyes, listening to more shouts from above. The wolves whined indecisively for a moment, then their footsteps retreated down the alley.

Callum let himself believe he’d gotten away this time. His blood was running onto the ground, mixing with the rain, but he knew his wounds would heal. Somehow they’d managed not to kill him. Either they were novice assassins or just plain lazy. But he didn’t care. In a few minutes he’d get up, sneak away and find some place to hide for the night. Then tomorrow, he’d go home to Scotland.

The wail of a siren and urgent shouts broke his thoughts. He’d waited too long and now the police had arrived. Someone had told him the police took forever to show up in America. So much for believing that bit of rubbish.

He heard the sounds of rattling wheels on pavement, probably a gurney, coming down the alley. The shouts grew louder and then someone was shining a light in his face. There was nowhere for him to go, no place to hide. Callum did the only thing he could do; he played dead.

* * *

Aspyn Montgomery glanced up at the clock on the wall. Twenty past midnight, twenty minutes past the end of her shift. The Chicago Mercy Emergency Room hummed with activity around her. There was a full moon, it was Friday, plus a storm raged outside, which added up to a rash of bar fights and car accidents. Since the beginning of her shift over eight hours ago, she’d been swamped with patients and paperwork. Just get me through this last stack of charts and get out the door before something else happens.

“Ambulance!” The night-shift ER clerk Jane leaned around the corner into the nurses station where Aspyn sat, shouting the last word Aspyn wanted to hear right now. She swore under her breath and jumped up from her chair, heading toward the large double doors that led to the ambulance bay.

“What is it?” She grabbed a pair of exam gloves from the box by the door, then hit the automatic door opener with her hip. Lightning streaked overhead, followed by a crack of thunder. She could see the flashing red lights approaching, the thin wail of the siren rising above the wind and rain.

“Suspected animal attack. Male, mid-twenties, unresponsive. Vitals dropping, significant blood loss, lots of lacerations. IV started en route.”

“Dog?”

“Not sure. Animal was all they said.”

Aspyn turned to Jane. “Get Dr. Morris. I think he’s in the on-call room. And get Metro Police on the line, tell them we have a possible dog attack. They’ll need to follow up, if they haven’t already.”

“Got it.”  Jane grabbed the nearest phone, punching in numbers. The siren grew louder, then abruptly cut off, replaced with an incessant beeping noise as the ambulance backed into the bay.

The doors opened and the guys inside quickly slid out the stretcher, snapping down the wheels of the cart. Aspyn glanced at the cart and had the brief and irrational thought that they’d replaced the regular white ambulance sheets with red paisley ones. Then she realized she was looking at the blood-spattered covering over the patient.

Rain pelleted her face, soaking through her scrubs. One of the EMTs began rattling off vital signs as Aspyn grabbed the handrails of the gurney and they pulled the stretcher inside the building. Over the clatter of the wheels and the voices surrounding her, she registered enough of what the EMT said to know this guy was in pretty bad shape.

“Trauma One!” Jane waved them toward the nearest trauma room. “Morris is on his way down.”

“I’m here.” Morris’s deep baritone rode over the rest of the noise in the room as he strode through the door behind the gurney, snapping on gloves. “What do we have?”

“Male, some kind of animal attack. Vitals dropping, blood pressure en route was…” The EMT’s voice cut off as Aspyn stuck the ear tips of her stethoscope in her ears. She quickly fitted a blood pressure cuff around the man’s arm, inflated it and listened. There was nothing.

Her eyes drifted to the man’s face. He was startlingly handsome. She’d seen enough guys come through the ER that she was immune to their looks, but something about this man drew her attention. Even though his high cheekbones were peppered with cuts and dried blood crusted his forehead, she found herself drawn again and again to look at his face.

“Aspyn! BP?”

She yanked the stethoscope out of her ears. “Fifty over palp.” Her heart sank. That was pretty much no blood pressure at all.

Margaret, the night shift supervisor, was slapping EKG electrodes to the man’s chest. Aspyn attached the leads to the electrodes and the erratic beeping of the heart monitor filled the room.

She hooked up the blood pressure cuff to the monitor and slipped a pulse oximeter over one long tapered finger. Glancing up she saw there was practically no pulse and the guy’s oxygen levels were dangerously low. This was a train wreck.

Morris pulled back the sheet and Aspyn got a good look at the man’s injuries. She’d seen a lot in the ER, but this was incredible. His torso was slashed from neck to navel, long rents running side to side, blood pouring from every wound. There were deep puncture wounds on his shoulder, almost tearing off the arm. If this had been an animal attack, she sure as hell hoped the police or animal control found whatever it was.

“Start another IV and push fluids. Call the blood bank, type and cross for six units. And call OR. We need to get him to surgery ASAP. He’s bleeding out.”

Before Morris could issue another order, the monitor began screeching that high-pitched sound that always sent Aspyn’s heart racing. It was the sound of someone dying and she’d never gotten used to it. But her training kicked in and as Morris shouted orders, she and Margaret followed them.

Twenty minutes later, her scrubs covered in blood, she dropped into a hard plastic chair in the lounge. The man had been pronounced dead by Morris a few minutes ago. It was sad, beyond sad. The guy was young and whatever had happened to him, it seemed a hard, cruel way for his life to end.

“Aspyn?” Margaret stuck her head through the door. “Can you do one last thing before you check out?”

Aspyn sighed, stretched, and pushed herself out of the chair. “What do you need?”

“The police are on their way to get a report, and I’ll handle them. Can you collect his belongings and bag them for the morgue? I’m sending an orderly to collect the body.”

“Do we have any next of kin to call?”

Margaret shook her head. “No, not this time. Pity. He was so young.”

Aspyn walked back to Trauma One, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. The lights were down, just a single beam spotlighting the body. He’d been moved to one of the hospital gurneys, the EMTs taking their stretcher when they left. Someone had disconnected the monitor leads and covered him with a clean white sheet.

“Sorry, guy, whoever you are.” She pulled back the sheet. A gold necklace with some kind of strangely shaped insignia hung around his neck and she tugged on the chain until she found the clasp, her gloves making it hard to get it undone. She held it to the light, squinting at the design. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, strange shapes incised on the front and what looked like Latin on the back. With a piece of gauze dipped in alcohol she cleaned off the drying blood. In the light the piece gleamed dully. There was no ring on either hand.

The EMTs had apparently cut off his clothes in the ambulance and she picked up the plastic bag that held a ruined pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She rummaged through the blood-soaked pockets of his jeans looking for some kind of identification. She found a small leather wallet and flipped it open. It had an identification card with a small picture, and what looked like an international driver’s license. There was also a battered passport. She flicked it open. So the guy finally had a name.

Callum McCourt.

Beyond that he carried little else. There were a few crumpled bills and a well-used credit card crammed in the wallet, but nothing personal. No photos of girlfriends or a wife, mother or father, scraps of paper with phone numbers written on them in faded ball point ink. Aspyn frowned, looking from the serious face on the plastic card to the man on the bed.

“Callum…” She had an urge to smooth down his hair, sticky with drying blood. Her hand hovered over him for a moment before she pulled it away.

“You’re losing it, Aspyn. You need to go home.” Her voice echoed in the still room. She heard someone running down the hall, Jane calling for Dr. Morris, the crash of the ambulance bay doors again. Best to finish this last task and get home before something else happened to pull her in.

She took an envelope from a drawer and scrawled the man’s name across the top, along with the date and time of death. She wrote down the items on the front, the list looking pathetically small. There should be more, she thought, than just a few items and some loose change to sum up his life.

“Who are you, Mr. McCourt? Where did you come from? Who did you belong to in this world?”

There was a crash behind her as the orderly arrived with the morgue cart. It was a big silver thing with a flat top and a recessed place for the body to rest. It resembled an overly-tall catering cart.

“You got his stuff? Margaret said you’d have that ready.” The orderly pulled the Kelly green cover from the cart. Aspyn always thought the color was oddly out of place as a shroud for the dead, but she guessed a cart covered in black being pushed down the halls would be too morbid.

She dropped the items in the envelope and sealed it shut, writing her name across the flap.

“All done. Not much with him.” She set the plastic bag with the bloody clothes at the foot of the cart. “The police might want the clothes. They’re pretty trashed, between blood, being shredded by whatever attacked him, and then being cut off him by the EMTs.”

The orderly grunted a non-committal reply. He motioned her to grab the man’s feet and she helped slid him into the opening in the cart. With a flourish, the orderly pulled the cover back over the cart. Aspyn handed the envelope to the orderly and watched as he pushed the cart into the hall.

That was it, she was free to go. She stretched and headed for the nurse’s lounge. Quickly stripping out of the bloody scrubs, she dropped them into the laundry hamper. Tugging on her shirt and jeans, she mentally kicked herself for not bringing along a jacket, much less an umbrella. It hadn’t been raining when she’d left home.

Waving to Jane, she headed for her car, a folded newspaper held uselessly over her head. She fumbled with the key in the dark, finally getting the door to her ancient Dodge open. Rain pelted the roof as she waited for the defroster to kick in. Leaning back she was swept with a sudden wave of sadness. It wasn’t often a death got to her like this. She wasn’t calloused or immune to having patients die but it wasn’t quite the same with this one.

The windshield finally cleared and she drove home slowly, the wipers barely able to keep up with the driving rain. She made another mad dash from her car to her apartment door, her fingers clumsy with exhaustion.

Once inside, she locked the door and dropped her purse and bag, and began shedding her soaking wet clothes as she walked to her bedroom. She was almost too tired to contemplate turning left into the bathroom instead of right into her bedroom. But she needed a shower. Twenty minutes found her clean, padding naked across the hall to her room. She grabbed clean pajamas and pulled them on, barely registering if they were even on right side out.

She crawled beneath the covers, pulling them up over her shoulder. Lightning flashed outside her window and rain hit the glass hard. One good thing, she would sleep soundly. Rain always lulled her to sleep. She took one deep breath, then another, blowing out the last of the tension still held in her body. Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

Surfacing from a groggy dream, Aspyn heard rain hitting her window, and then a muted crash of thunder. The storm was still going strong and she rolled over, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. Then the thunder faded, replaced with a strange tapping sound. For a long moment she lay still in the dim room, confused, wondering how thunder could sound like that. Then it hit her.

Oh, shit. It’s a leak from the storm. She opened her eyes, flicked on the bedside light and scanned the ceiling, looking for water dripping from above. But the ceiling was dry.

The tapping continued and she glanced toward the window.

Aspyn was pretty sure she screamed. Just to be certain, she screamed again. I should have taken the second floor apartment.

There was a man at her window. Not just any man. It looked like Callum McCourt.

* * *

Callum swore under his breath. This wasn’t anything like he’d planned. Aspyn’s scream had easily reached him through the window. And if he could hear it, he was pretty sure everyone else could, too.

He really hadn’t thought this through. He’d followed her scent from the hospital, trailing through backyards and gardens, waking up neighborhood dogs, running barefoot in a pair of stolen hospital scrubs. When he’d found her he’d been so anxious to get out of the rain, and out of sight, and get inside that he’d rapped on the window the instant he saw her.

What an idiot. What woman in her right mind would willingly open a window to a guy standing outside, especially one she’d watched die earlier that night.

Callum dropped out of sight of her window, circling the building, looking for the front door before she woke up the neighbors or called the police. At least she lived on the ground floor and he wasn’t having to climb the side of the building. He should have just gotten in and got on with getting what he came for. Now he risked drawing attention to himself. That was the last thing he needed.

Getting past the security lock at the building’s front door took Callum only a few seconds. He managed a grim smile. No building was ever secure if he wanted to get inside. He’d gotten out of the morgue freezer within minutes, before he either froze or suffocated inside. This was even easier. The security door clicked shut behind him and he moved silently down the hall until he stood in front of the door to Aspyn’s apartment.

Her scent filled the hall and he knew he had the right place. He tried the door, knowing it would be locked. The apartment was totally silent beyond and he listened for a minute. But he didn’t have a lot of time to try to figure out what the hell she was doing behind that door.

The lock was but a moment’s work. The click of the latch seemed very loud and he tensed, holding his breath, waiting. But there were no screams from the other side of the door. Something was going on, but he didn’t know what.

Carefully he pushed the door open. It was dark in the apartment, dim light from outside coming through the living room windows, but the short hallway he stood in was in shadow. He stepped through the doorway, pushing it closed behind him.

The latch had barely clicked home when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Out of instinct he ducked, throwing up his left arm.

Something hard hit his forearm, pain shooting down to his hand. He turned and there was Aspyn, wielding a baseball bat. She swung again but this time he was ready for her. He caught the end of the bat in his right hand. In one motion he twisted it out of her grip, holding it out of her reach.

She was breathing hard and she backed away from him, eyes locked on his face. He glanced behind her and saw the kitchen. Damn. She was going for a knife.

“Don’t…” He reached out and grabbed her arm. She pulled hard, twisting in his grip, but he held on.

“Let go or I’ll scream. I called 911.”

“I don’t want to hurt ye, Aspyn. Really, I don’t. But I do need your help.”

He reached behind her and flipped the switch on the wall. In the overhead light, it was easy to read the shock in her expression, eyes wide as she looked up at him. Her face went pale and she went slack in his grip.

“Wait, it is you. You’re…you’re the guy from the hospital. You’re the dead guy.”

“I’m the guy from the hospital, yeah, but I’m not dead. At least, not in the technical sense.” He tried one of his most charming smiles on her, but she didn’t seem to be very impressed. If anything she looked at him with deeper suspicion and terror.

“Listen, I do need your help. And I don’t want to hurt ye.”

She tugged against him. “You are hurting me now.” There was a tinge of pain in her voice and he realized he was holding her wrist much tighter than he’d wanted to. He loosened his grip, but didn’t release her.

“If I let you go, will you promise not to scream? Or hit me with the bat again?”

She frowned at him, but eventually she nodded. He pulled her over to the couch and gently pushed down onto the cushions before he let go of her. She rubbed her wrist and he winced again at the red marks on her skin. The last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt her. He set the bat down against the wall, away from Aspyn’s reach.

“Did you really call emergency?”

Her frowned deepened, but her eyes flickered away from his and she dropped her head.

“Ye didn’t call them.”

She finally shook her head. “No, I thought you were someone...that you were a Peeping Tom. But now you’re here.” She glared up at him.

“And how the hell do you know my name?”

“You took care of me tonight. In hospital, when I was hurt.”

“But how do you know my name? You were unconscious when they brought you in.”

“I heard them say your name. And I remember the touch of your hands, that ye took care of me. I wasn’t unconscious then. It was more like pretending to be dead.”

“Well, you did a pretty damn good job then. You had all of us fooled. The EMTs said it was an animal attack.”

“It was…a little more than just an animal attack.” He paced in front of her, frustration welling up inside him. How in the hell was he supposed to explain everything to her, to make her understand, without scaring her more. Or worse, having her think he was crazy.

“Listen, Aspyn. I’m not here to hurt you.” He stopped in front of her, raking his hands through his hair. “And I’m rather desperate for your help.”

Callum squatted in front of her. She pulled back and he could sense the fear rolling off of her in waves.

“Someone tried to kill me tonight. Assassinate me.” He watched her eyes widen and she shrank back even further against the couch cushions. Maybe this wasn’t the right approach either. Damn it. He was never good with words. And he didn’t have time at the moment for subtlety or tact.

“Aspyn, I need to be brutally honest with ye, about who and what I am.” He tried to keep his voice calm.

“Who you are? You were the target of an assassination attempt.” Her voice was edged with fear but she kept her eyes on his face.

“It’s more what I am.” He took a deep breath. “I’m a shifter, someone who can change their form.”

Aspyn stared at him with a bewildered look on her face. Callum had no idea what she was thinking or if she even believed him. Normally he could read people like a book, but all he was getting from Aspyn was fear and suspicion. Understandable, but he’d be a lot more comfortable if he could get a read on the girl besides just her terror. He wanted her to at least understand what he’d told her. Finally she shook her head.

“You mean you’re a werewolf? Like howl-at-the-moon werewolf?”

“Yes, but I don’t howl at the moon.”

“Then why aren’t you a wolf now? There’s a full moon outside.”

“Because I’m not controlled by the moon, despite what you read about us. I can shift at will.”

She looked at him for a long time and he was certain he’d lost her, lost any hope of her trusting him.

“You’re delusional. Did you hit your head when you were attacked? Maybe you have a concussion.” Her voice had lost a little bit of the fear, but it wasn’t replaced by anything that sounded like she believed him. If anything, she sounded more distrustful.

Callum closed his eyes briefly, summoning up what little patience he had left. There was no other choice in the matter. He held out his hand. “Give me your hand. If you won’t believe what I tell you, I’ll show you the truth.”

Aspyn eyed him suspiciously and Callum’s heart sank. She wasn’t going to believe him and he’d have to think of another way to earn her trust. But then she cautiously extended her hand toward him.

“Trust me, Aspyn. And believe what you see.”

* * *

His voice was calm, but she knew crazy people could sound completely rational when they wanted something. Just because he was drop-dead handsome and had a lovely Scottish accent didn’t mean he wasn’t a complete psychopath.

And Callum definitely wanted something from her. She’d gotten past thinking he was there to rob her, or worse. Now she thought maybe he wasn’t really dangerous, that he might just want attention. So maybe if she gave him a little, he’d go away.

The hand she held was surprisingly warm, considering the last time she’d seen him he’d been on a gurney headed to the morgue. It was ridiculous to think he’d be cold and clammy to the touch. Even though this whole night had taken a decidedly bizarre twist, she was pretty certain the guy in front of her was very much alive.

He held her hand for a second and she wondered what he was trying to prove. Then all hell broke loose inside her head and she closed her eyes against the onslaught. Images flooded through her mind, images that frightened her. She saw blood and fur, claws and fangs. Callum, first as a man, then as a wolf, fighting for his life as two other wolves clawed and bit him. Then his human body, lying very still in the rain as blood ran onto the ground. It all ran through her mind in a heartbeat, but the images were terrifying.

“What the fuck?” She jerked her hand away. “You’re not…that’s not possible. Those things aren’t real. It’s all myth and stories. And how did you do that?”

“It’s all real, Aspyn. Verra real. It’s what—and who—I am.” He watched her, still kneeling in front of her, hands resting beside her on the couch. She was confused by the images and words, trapped by his body in front of her.

But it was Callum lying on the ground in those images. She recognized the bloody slashes that had been on his body in the ER. Blood loss from those lacerations had killed him. She’d watched him bleed out in front of her, watched his heart stop.

“Why aren’t you still bleeding? We didn’t suture any of your lacerations. You should be leaving a pool of blood on my carpet.”

“It’s part of being a shifter. We heal quickly.”

Despite her fear, she leaned forward, peering at his neck and chest, or at least what she could see of it exposed by the scrub top. The gashes and rents were almost gone, faded to thin red marks, barely visible among the curly black hair that covered his chest. His arms were clean, too. She sat back, mystified.

“They could have killed me in the alley, but they were interrupted, someone saw us. All I needed was that bit of a distraction and time to get away, so I risked playing dead in human form. I didn’t plan to end up in your hospital or your morgue. But someone called the police. And the police showed up a hell of a lot faster than I thought they would.”

Aspyn had seen things that defied logical medical explanations. Maybe this was something else that defied logic, medical or otherwise. It made her head swim and she struggled to understand him. She had questions, and she wanted answers.

“So you can shift into a wolf, whenever you want? If I asked you to now, you could?”

She was surprised by his crooked smile. “I could, but I don’t think you want that. It’s…rather dramatic. And even if you’re prepared for it, the first time you see it, it can be a bit of a shock.”

His smile widened and then he winked. “Besides, I’m short on clothes at the moment, so I’d have to undress first. Not sure you’re ready for that either.”

Her eyes widened. God, he was a cocky bastard. Aspyn fidgeted on the couch. Suddenly he was close, much too close for comfort. “Okay, fine. No on-demand changing into a wolf. So let’s say I’ve suspended disbelief long enough to buy this whole werewolf story. Why were you attacked? Who tried to assassinate you?”

Callum rose and walked to the window, finally putting some space between them. She drew a breath and let herself relax, just a little. Crowded against him had left her agitated in a way she didn’t understand, and didn’t really like.

He stood looking out into the dark for a moment before answering. She had the sense he was either gathering his thoughts or coming up with some new far-fetched line to feed her. But the longer she was around him, the more sincere he sounded. Or the more he was sucking her into his fantasy world.

“I learned today that my father was killed. He was in Scotland.” He turned back to her, his brows drawn down over his dark eyes, his voice troubled.

“I’m sorry.” That wasn’t what she expected to hear at all. She had no idea what else to say so she sat back, waiting for him to continue.

“He is—was—Alpha of the McCourt Clan. The leader.” He crossed the room and Aspyn tensed, thinking he was going to sit beside her, but he perched on the arm of the couch instead. His knee brushed against her leg and she was suddenly very aware of his body, the muscular shoulders and long legs, the dark hair that covered his forearms. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to push images into her mind again, or if she was reacting on some other level to the nearness of this man.

Callum was talking again and she pushed back those thoughts, focusing on his words.

“I’m the next in line to take over as Alpha, as my father’s only son. Except… someone doesn’t want me to.” He turned his eyes to her and for the first time that night Aspyn saw sadness—and maybe fear—in his eyes.

“I think it was someone from my own Clan who attacked me tonight. And I’m pretty certain I know who killed my father, who is behind wanting us out of the picture as Alphas.”

“Someone from inside your…is it Clan?” Aspyn glanced at Callum and he nodded. “Someone from your own Clan killed your father and wants you dead, too? What the hell kind of Clan is this?”

Callum straightened, squaring his shoulders, but his face darkened dramatically. She’d hit a nerve there somewhere. “It’s an ancient Clan, and a proud one. And one of the largest. It’s been the McCourt family Clan for generations.”

His shoulders suddenly slumped. “But it’s complicated…there’s someone who wants me dead, who killed my father. He wants the McCourts out of the picture.”

“And he’s the one who sent the wolves after you tonight?”

“Aye, I believe so.”

“And this guy wants to be Alpha of the Clan?”

“Aye, I believe he does. Probably already is.”

Callum’s accent had deepened as he’d talked about his Clan and his father. Aspyn felt a wave of sympathy for him. Whether he was a werewolf or just plain crazy, something had happened to Callum tonight, something that had shaken him deeply.

“I’m sorry…I said that already. But I am, Callum.” His name sounded strange on her tongue. He glanced down at her, catching her hesitation.

“I still need your help, Aspyn. I need to get to Scotland. I need my passport, to book a flight.”

Despite the seriousness of Callum’s request, Aspyn laughed. It bubbled up, uncontrolled, and Callum watched her, dark brows drawn together. He looks genuinely pissed.

After a moment she waved her hand, her laughter subsiding into muffled giggles. “Sorry…really. But it’s just the absurdity of thinking of you on an airplane, like anyone else, after you’ve made such a point of getting me to believe you’re a werewolf.”

He huffed out a breath, something very close to a growl crossing his lips. She was frightened again by the fierceness of his dark eyes. “How do you think we travel? By broomstick or magic spell? God, woman, I may be a werewolf, but I still live in this century. I drive a car, I travel on planes, just like anyone else. But I can’t travel on a plane without a passport or money.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” This was not a man with a sense of humor. “I took your wallet and passport, and put them in an envelope. It’s what we do with the effects of the deceased. It went with your body to the morgue.”

She suddenly remembered the gold necklace. “You were wearing a gold necklace, too. It’s in the envelope.”

Callum’s hand went to his throat. “Oh, Christ, I thought I’d lost it in the alley. Thank you. It’s a talisman, actually. Been in the McCourt family…”

“For generations?” She offered a tentative smile.

Callum looked at her for a moment and then returned her smile. “Aye. Everything in our family has been there for generations.” He rubbed a hand across his face, suddenly looking very tired.

“You have to know how unbelievable this sounds to me, Callum. How it would sound to anyone.” She said his name again and this time it didn’t feel so strange on her lips.

Callum’s soft laugh surprised her. It was tinged with sadness. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. It’s one of the reasons I don’t tell very many people what I really am.”

“Then why tell me at all? Why work so hard to make me believe?”

“Because you’re the first person I’ve ever needed to trust. I need you, Aspyn. I’m alone here. I’m pretty much just a lone wolf.”

Aspyn glanced down at her hands, realized she was clutching them in her lap. She spread them across her knees. “So you want me to go back to the morgue and get your things?” She looked up, caught the hopeful look on his face.

“Yes. It’s what I’m asking you to do.”

Aspyn stood and paced across the living room, keenly aware of Callum’s eyes following her. Her mind had already started spinning out how she was going to do this, who she might see, what her excuse was going to be if she did meet someone. She realized somewhere she’d decided she was going to do this, even if she wasn’t quite sure she believed everything he’d told her. She swung back to Callum.

“And after I get your stuff, then what?”

Callum stood and took a step toward her. She took in his height, the width of his shoulders, the slant of his brows over his eyes, the straight line of his lips…physical features she hadn’t noticed—or paid attention to—earlier. He towered over her and for a second her heart took off on a mad rampage. She was a complete idiot and for all she knew, now he was going to pull out a knife and stab her.

But he stopped a few feet away from her. “I leave. No obligations, no strings. You do me this favor and I’m out of your life forever.”

Aspyn nodded. “Fine. That’s fine with me. I’ll get dressed and go back. It shouldn’t take too long.” Oh, hell, I have no idea how long this is going to take.

On impulse she stuck out her hand. Callum glanced down, hesitated, then took it.

“Deal.” She shook his hand. He looked up in surprise.

“You believe me?”

She shrugged. “Not sure. But I think you believe you and maybe that’s enough for now.”

She realized he was still holding her hand and she tugged gently. He released her and for the first time she saw a genuine smile cross his face. Not the cocky grin from before, but a smile of relief.

* * *

The rain had stopped, the full moon casting silver light over everything. Aspyn shivered as she drove to the hospital. It was almost 3:00 a.m. and the streets were deserted.

Images of the savage attack that Callum had shown her rose up in her mind and she shook her head. I don’t want to see that again. Seeing the results in the ER was enough.

There had been another discussion with Callum over him staying in her apartment alone while she went back to the hospital. She’d argued he could wait in the car, but he’d insisted he wasn’t safe outside. Finally she’d just given up that point. He hadn’t robbed her so far and if he decided to take off with her flat-screen, at least she had his passport to give to the police when she called them to report the theft.

She pulled into the employee parking lot at the back of the hospital, the one closest to the morgue entrance, leaving her car in the far corner, out of the glare of the overhead parking lot lights. No telling if anyone would be coming out mid-shift, but it probably wasn’t the best idea to advertise she was here.

On the drive she’d thought about what she’s say if anyone questioned her on Monday. She’d have to use her employee card to get in the building and that was probably logged somewhere, on some computer. Hopefully no one would notice that. If someone did and asked, it was easiest to just say she’d forgotten something in her locker.

But that wouldn’t explain why she was in the morgue, if she met anyone inside the hospital. The only other excuse she could think of was she’d forgotten to do something while bagging Callum’s belongings, forgotten to sign the envelope, anything.

The card reader beeped and the little light turned green, the door popped open, and she stepped inside. The first door on the right was a stairwell and she slipped through the door, heading down to the basement. At the bottom of the steps, she cracked the stairwell door an inch, peeking out into the hallway as best she could. There was no sound so she opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Cold fluorescents lit the empty hallway and Aspyn shivered again, this time from nerves. There was nothing as desolate, to her, as an empty hospital corridor, especially one that led to the morgue. She took a deep breath, instantly regretting it as she inhaling the weird smells that always seemed to hang in the air in the basement. The incinerator was down here somewhere and the air always smelled of chemicals and burned garbage. She didn’t want to think about what the morgue was going to smell like.

The door to the morgue was marked with a small nameplate below a small round window, lit by a dim light from inside. Someone was in the morgue.

“Shit.” Aspyn stopped in the hall. It could only be an orderly or Margaret. Unless they were doing an autopsy in the middle of the night. It would be just her luck to walk in on the coroner or someone from his staff preparing a body.

Then it hit her; what if someone had discovered Callum’s body was missing? There could be all kinds of staff in the morgue, someone far more inquisitive than the orderly or Margaret.

“Shit,” she repeated. There was nothing she could do but brazen her way past whoever it was. With more confidence than she felt, she stepped forward and pushed open the door.

Faint rock and roll music reached her as she walked down the short hall, breathing a sigh of relief as she passed the darkened offices of the coroner and her staff. She rounded the corner, stopped and backpedaled. A pool of light highlighted a small desk set in a little alcove. Her heart stopped. She didn’t want to deal with the orderly or anyone else. Flattening herself against the wall, she leaned forward, peeking around the corner. And then stifled a chuckle.

The orderly who’d come to take Callum’s body was sitting with his feet propped up on the desk, chair tipped back, eyes closed, snoring lightly. Aspyn breathed a sigh of relief and then caught herself. She still had to get into the room where they kept the bodies, find Callum’s belongings and then get back out.

She stepped around the corner and worked her way down the hall, edging past the desk, eyes never leaving the orderly. The morgue door was at the end of the hall. An anxious crawling feeling had started at the base of her spine, like ants moving under her skin. She wanted to run but forced herself to move forward slowly.

The double doors were right ahead, the round windows dark. She set her hand on one door and pushed. Nothing. She pushed harder, leaning against the door. No movement; the door was locked.

Panic flooded through her, hot and sour. Out of frustration she bumped the door with her hip. The other door moved slightly. She reached over and pushed against it and it swung inward with a slight squeak. I’m such an idiot. She glanced back at the orderly. He was still snoring.

Aspyn pushed her way through the unlocked side of the double doors. It squeaked as it swung shut and she put her hand against it and stood on tiptoe, peering back out through the window in the door. The hall was still empty. The crawling feeling still played across her back and she tried to ignore it. She turned away from the doors.

“Shit.”

Ahead was a wall of freezer doors, behind which she assumed the bodies were kept. All of them were closed. She had no idea where Callum’s body would be—had been. He’d apparently done a good job of covering his escape. Nothing seemed out of place, there were no bloody footprints on the floor. Now how the hell was she supposed to find Callum’s belongings?

She crossed to a small desk in the corner. There must be a computer program that tracked all that stuff, but the monitor on the desk was dark. She tapped the keyboard but the monitor came to life with a screen asking for a password.

“Shit…” I need a new swear word. Aspyn tapped her finger on the desktop, scanning the room. She wanted to hurry but she was lost as to where to start. The idea of looking through each freezer horrified her.

Think. “There has to be a system here. It’s the hospital for fuck’s sake. There’s a procedure for everything.”

Procedures. She spun around. Behind her was a book shelf crammed with anatomy books and three-ring binders. Scanning the binders she found what she wanted, the procedure manual for the morgue. Yanking it out, she dropped it on the desk with a thud. She winced, glancing at the doors.

Running a finger down the index page, she found the section on handling the belongings of the deceased, and flipped the binder open. Muttering to herself, she skimmed through the convoluted hospital language. Finally she found what she wanted. And cursed again.

“Lock the valuables envelope in the safe.” Time for that new swear word, Aspyn. “Fuck.”

She glanced around the room. The safe was beside the desk and she stared at it. It was a big square thing with a combination. Her heart sank. This was hopeless.

Her eyes fell on the cluttered desktop and she let out a something between a moan and a giggle. Tossed among the papers was the envelope with Callum’s belongings. Apparently the orderly outside wasn’t a stickler for hospital procedure. Thank God for lazy employees.

She snatched up the envelope and stuffed it into her purse. She didn’t really care if anybody noticed if it was gone or not. The fact that there was missing body would probably take all their attention, at least for the near future.

There was a noise in the hall and she jumped, biting back a yelp. The morgue door swung gently back and forth and she held her breath, waiting for the orderly to come through it. But it didn’t open all the way. Aspyn crept slowly toward the door, peeking through the window. The orderly was gone from the desk.

Not wanting to waste any advantage, she bolted through the door, ran down the hall and burst through the outer door into the hall. She skidded to a stop just as the orderly disappeared around the far corner. Aspyn headed in the opposite direction, sprinting toward the stairs and the employee exit.

The cool night air chilled her and she realized she was sweating. Forcing herself to slow to a walk she made her way to her car. Hands shaking, she fumbled with the key in the ignition, grinding the starter. The engine finally caught and she sat for a minute, waiting for her heart to slow and the heater to kick in.

Her whole body started to shake and for a minute she thought she was going to be sick. She rolled down the window and gulped in the night air. It’s just the adrenaline. I’m fine…I’m okay. I’m not going to throw up.

She finally put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, turning the car toward home. The drive seemed to go on forever. When she pulled up in front of her apartment she let out the breath she’d been holding. This night had gone from strange to bizarre. All she wanted now was to give Callum his stuff and get him out of her apartment. And hopefully that would be the end of being tangled up in whatever delusions Callum had.

* * *

As soon as she’d left, Callum had flung himself down on the couch, exhausted from the attack, the aftermath of the injuries, then waking up to find himself in the morgue. He was running on fumes now and wanted nothing more to find something to eat and then sleep. But he knew both were probably a long way off.

Callum heard Aspyn’s car long before she pulled up to the apartment. For the first time since the attack he felt something close to relief. It was premature, certainly, because he still had to get back to Scotland, to confront Malcolm. It was overwhelming, but at least she’d come back. And hopefully she’d found his things.

He sat up as he heard her key turning in the lock. She slipped inside, turning the lock with a decisive click.

“I got it.” Aspyn pulled the envelope from her purse. She sounded a bit breathless and he caught the harsh scent of adrenaline running through her.

He reached out for the envelope and he saw her hand was shaking. “Thank ye, Aspyn.” She moved past him into the kitchen and he heard water running. He tore the top off the envelope, dumping his meager belongings on the pass-through counter. The sight of the blue-covered passport was the best thing he’d seen all day.

“Did you have any problems?” He glanced up. She was drinking a glass of water and he watched as she drained the entire thing before shaking her head.

“No. Piece of cake. Maybe I was a cat burglar in a previous life.”

He smiled. It was better having her with a sense of humor than having her terrified of him.

Picking up the talisman, he lifted the chain to his neck and snapped the clasp behind his head. Just feeling the weight of it against his chest was a relief. He flipped open his wallet. The scummy plastic driver’s license was still there as was his credit card.

“You travel light.”

He met her gaze. “I do. It works for me.”

She set the glass down. “No pictures, nothing personal?”

He frowned at her. “Wallet’s for money, not personal stuff.”

It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to volunteer anything. “You do have one problem though.” She tipped her head to the side. “I highly doubt they’re going to let you on any plane wearing those.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Plus you smell pretty rank, to be honest.”

Callum looked down at the dirty green scrubs he was wearing. It was the first thing he’d found, in the used laundry hamper, and he’d put them on without thinking. And she was right; he did smell.

“Aye, well. I guess you’ve got a point.”

Aspyn watched him a moment and he sensed a change in her, some shift in her perspective. She may not believe him yet, but the terror had receded he sensed she wanted to help him. Or else she really just wanted him gone.

“I might have something you can wear. And you can take a shower here, if you want.”

He followed Aspyn down the hall to her bedroom, watching as she rummaged in the back of her closet. The room surprised him; it was neat and clean, but seemed empty of the kinds of things he’d expect to find in a woman’s bedroom. There were no framed pictures of family, no trinkets, no trays overflowing with jewelry. It was more like an impersonal hotel room than a bedroom.

Aspyn turned back from the closet, eyeing Callum critically. In one hand she held a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and shoes in the other. “The jeans are probably going to be too big in the waist and too short. The shirt will probably be okay. Shoes…” She shrugged. “That’s a crap shoot, I guess, if they’ll fit.”

He took the clothes. There were fresh waves of anxiety coming from Aspyn, something to do with the clothes, not him. Despite his own unease about everything, Callum was curious about her, and more to the point, about the owner of the clothes she’d given him.

“Ex-husband or ex-boyfriend?”

She looked up at him, eyes flashing, setting her hands on her hips. “None of your business. Just because you shared your life story with me doesn’t mean I have to share anything with you.”

Callum took a step back, surprised by the sudden flare of anger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask the wrong question. It’s just…” He looked around the room. “It just seems like…”

“Like what?” She took a step forward, poking him in the chest with her finger. “Listen, you’ve got your passport and your talisman thing. The deal is you get those, then you go. I’ve done my part.” She turned on her heel and left the room.

He stood for a moment, totally confused by the turnabout in her attitude. It was pretty obvious he wasn’t the only one with a complicated life. In Aspyn’s case, Callum suspected that life included a man, and by her angry reaction to his question, a man who’d hurt her.

* * *

Aspyn heard the shower start running as she walked back to the kitchen. Her glass was on the counter. She wanted something in it other than water. Scotch would be good. She’d even settle for a beer. The tension in her neck and between her shoulders was killing her, and she rolled her head from side to side, but that only made her head hurt worse.

She picked up the glass, swearing under her breath. Her hand was shaking. She turned to the sink and let the water run a minute, then filled the glass. With any luck this was going to be over soon. Callum would be clean, dressed and then out of her apartment, and her life.

It bothered her that she’d lost it when he’d asked about the clothes. She’d tried to push the memories attached to those clothes out of her mind, but seeing him holding the t-shirt and jeans had opened up a door she’d wanted to keep shut.

Losing her cool wasn’t something she ever did. It was something she was trained to maintain and she was proud of being able to face all kinds of emergencies at the hospital and remain calm.

But there was nothing like a strange man breaking into her apartment to shake things up. Then he’d spun this wild tale about being a werewolf. It was all so far-fetched she really had no idea what to think anymore. She’d have been better off going against her instincts and calling the police in the beginning, and she kicked herself for not doing just that.

The shower stopped and her heart kicked up a few beats. She frowned and took another drink of water. Callum affected her in a way that was distinctly uncomfortable but all too familiar. He was charming, but so were a whole lot of crazy guys.

It finally hit her. He was unpredictable, charming and on the dangerous side. And that was exactly like the owner of those clothes. He was far too much like Charlie for her comfort.

“I tried not to use all your shampoo.” Callum came around the corner into the kitchen, and Aspyn tried hard not to stare. He was shirtless, dark hair a damp tousled mess. Her eyes traveled over his chest. All the lacerations were gone, even the deepest ones, leaving no trace they were ever there. The burnished gold talisman rested against his tan skin, the dark hair that covered his chest trailing down to a trail that disappeared into the waistband of the jeans. And as she’d thought, the jeans were too big. They hung from his narrow hips, revealing far more of him than she was really comfortable seeing in her kitchen.

“Whatever you used is fine.” She pulled her eyes back to his face and felt her own flush hot. From the way he looked at her and the smug smile on his face, she was pretty sure he knew what she was thinking.

“I need one more favor from you.” He leaned against the doorway and she caught a whiff of her floral shampoo. But on Callum it smelled anything but feminine. It was one more disconcerting thing she had to deal with. The sooner he was gone, the better. But now he wanted something else.

“Are you hungry? I don’t have much…” She reached for the refrigerator door. But Callum shook his head.

“I need internet access, a laptop or something. I have to buy a ticket to home.”

“Oh…yeah. Okay.” She pointed to her desk in the corner of the living room. “I’ll boot it up for you.”

She moved past him. He followed and she was conscious of him behind her, again too close. She pulled out her desk chair and dropped down into it. Callum leaned over her and she decided he definitely had problems with maintaining personal space.

The laptop came to life and her fingers hesitated over the keyboard. She glanced over her shoulder at Callum.

“Do you mind? I don’t want you watching me type my password, not with your photographic memory.”

He took a step back and she didn’t miss the scowl on his face. She quickly typed the password, opened up a browser window and pushed her chair away from the desk.

“All yours.”

But Callum wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he ignored her completely, turning his back to her, his entire focus on the front door.

“Hey. Did you still want…”

She was half out of her chair when the door burst inward, torn completely away from its hinges. Her chair fell over as she bolted to her feet as two men came through the ruined door. They were focused on Callum, but it only took them a few seconds to realize she was in the room.

“You take him. I’ll make quick work of her.” The short stocky man wearing dirty canvas pants took a step toward Aspyn. His face was almost divided in half by scars that ran from the corners of his mouth toward the sides of his face. It gave the impression he was smiling, even though his lips were compressed into a thin line. He eyed Aspyn with look that made it clear he’d really want to take his time with whatever he was going to do.

The other man grinned. Aspyn caught sight of yellowed teeth, some missing. Both men stank, an acrid smell that had her eyes watering.

“Aye. I want another crack at this bugger.” Teeth gave a nasty laugh, lunging at Callum.

Callum dodged, spinning around behind Teeth and jumping on the man’s back. Callum looked up at Aspyn, teeth gritted, face distorted in rage. His hands were around Teeth’s neck.

“Damn it, woman. Run!”

Aspyn looked away from Callum. Scar Face was coming toward her with a calm certainty that chilled her to the bone. Aspyn tried to take a step around the struggling Callum and Teeth, but they were rolling on the living room floor, blocking the hallway to her bedroom. Scar Face stood between her and the front door.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the baseball bat, lying half under the couch. She’d lost track of it after Callum had wrenched it away from her. She feinted right and Scar Face lunged. Keeping low, she dodged left, crossing the short distance to the couch. Staying low, she grabbed the handle of the bat, pulling it out from under the couch.

She turned, holding the bat in both hands. Scar Face was already coming at her and she set her feet, squared her shoulders and cocked the bat. For a moment she saw confusion flicker in Scar Face’s eyes but he kept charging. She stood still, trying to remember to breathe, waiting for him to get in the sweet spot in front of her. When he did, she swung the bat as hard as she could, shifting her weight, putting all she had into it. She swung for the fence.

The swing was perfect, connecting with the side of his head. For a split second he stood stock still, a comical look of shock on his face. Then, in slow motion, he dropped to the floor. Blood welled from his nose and ears, and she was pretty sure he was dead.

Callum and Teeth were on their feet, breathing hard, murder in their eyes. There was no way she could take a swing at Teeth in the small space of the living room without hitting Callum. She looked around, trying to figure out what to do, how to help Callum, how to get this man out of her apartment.

Before she could move, Teeth let out a terrific snarl. She took an involuntary step back, watching in horror as something beyond anything she could ever imagine unfolded in front of her.

His body began contorting in bizarre angles and he cried out as if he was in extreme pain. Callum took a step back, breathing hard. Aspyn glanced toward the door, gauging the distance. Her car keys were in her purse by the door, and if she ran, she could grab it and make it out of here.

She took one step and Teeth raised his head, growling at her. She shrank back. His teeth had turned into a mouthful of fangs, still yellowed but now looking razor-sharp. His jaws thrust forward, forming a thick muzzle, and he snapped at her. Whatever the hell was happening to him, he was still dangerous. Hideous, but dangerous.

There was another deep growl from across the room and she turned, watching in terror as Callum’s body started going through the same fantastical contortions as Teeth. She didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to be here. None of this was real; none of this could really be happening.

Teeth’s skin started to split, pulling away from his body, gray fur showing through the rents. Arms and legs continued contorting, twisting and snapping, as he dropped to the ground. In the last moment before he hit the floor, she watched in amazement as he went from something malformed to a scruffy gray wolf.

She glanced up just in time to watch Callum—was it really Callum?—drop to the floor on four legs as a very large, very sleek black wolf. As terrified as she was, for a split second she registered just how beautiful Callum was. Then Teeth snarled and her mind snapped back to the two wolves in front of her.

Aspyn took a hurried step, then two, backward, bumping into her overturned chair. She stumbled, grabbing the air for balance and went down, hard, landing on her ass, the bat held forgotten on one hand.

Instantly Teeth advanced toward Aspyn, jaws snapping, his hot, fetid breath washing over her. She scrambled away but she was backed up against the desk with nowhere to go.

He lunged at her and she brought the bat up with both hands, shrinking back behind the feeble protection. He struck the bat with his body, his strength pushing Aspyn under the desk. But the bat was wedged against his chest, giving her scant inches between his snapping fangs and her face.

She was overwhelmed by his weight, pushed down onto the floor. He snapped at the bat, crunching the wood in his massive jaws. Aspyn closed her eyes, waiting for the pain as he finally chewed through the bat and reached her.

Suddenly his weight was lifted from her. She opened her eyes, snapping her head around. Callum had Teeth on the floor, Callum’s teeth buried in the back of Teeth’s neck, pinning the wolf face first against the couch with his powerful forelegs. Teeth made a futile effort to snap at Callum, but Callum had control of the wolf’s head.

With a sudden twist of his massive head, Callum snapped the wolf’s neck. There was a sickening sound as bones cracked. Teeth’s body twitched once and then went limp, and Aspyn knew Callum had broken the wolf’s neck. Callum dropped the limp body of the wolf and stumbled away from it, and from Aspyn. He turned to her and whined, cocking his head.

“What? I have no idea what you want.” But as she said the words Callum picked up the jeans he’d been wearing in his teeth. They were torn, totally useless.

“Oh, yeah. Okay.” She scrambled to her feet, heading down the hall. She heard him padding behind her and it unnerved her completely. She was being followed by a wolf, in her apartment. Yanking open the closet door, she dug through the boxes of Charlie’s stuff, dragging out another pair of jeans.

“Here…” She turned, holding the jeans. But it wasn’t a wolf behind her in her room; it was Callum, back in human form. And he was totally naked.

“Thank you. Sorry for this...” He gestured at himself, but he didn’t look sorry at all. His voice was ragged but the smile on his face was the same cocky one she’d seen before. It irritated her but it also sent her heart into overdrive.

He took the jeans, fingers brushing hers. That was too much, and he was too close for comfort again. It was enough to send her running from the room.

But once she was in the living room, she didn’t know where to go. There was a dead guy on the floor, bleeding on her carpet. There was a dead wolf by the couch, its head twisted grotesquely to the side. Her door was ripped off the hinges. She was amazed none of her neighbors had called the police. On the other hand, in this neighborhood, maybe this wasn’t such a surprise.

“Do you believe me now?”

Aspyn whirled around. Callum emerged from the hall, fully dressed.

A wave of sadness took her by surprise. The shirt she’d given Callum to wear was one she’d bought for Charlie at a concert back when they’d first met. It reminded her of better times. Then it made her mad that something like this would bring back any memories of that ass at a time like this. Someone had just tried to kill her and the man she thought was insane had just changed into a wolf, and back again, in front of her.

“What the hell just happened?” Her voice was shaky.

“Those were the guys who tried to kill me tonight.” He stepped over the form of the wolf, bending down beside Scar Face, looking over the body.

“Is he dead?” Aspyn watched as Callum checked for a pulse. Something you could have done yourself, Aspyn.

“He is.” He looked up at her. “Do ye believe me now? Or do ye still think I’m a raving lunatic?”

Without waiting for an answer, he rose and stepped over the man, righting the chair and pulling it up to the desk. He sat down, tapping keys on the laptop. “We need to get out of here. You’re coming with me to Scotland.”

“We? What the hell are you talking about? You need to leave, not me. And I’ll be damned if you think I’m going anywhere with you.”

Callum glanced up from his typing. “I can’t leave ye here.” He jerked his head at the bodies on the floor. “There was another man with them tonight. He’s out there someplace. He’ll track ye down, just like I did. Just like they did.” He held her gaze, eyes as hard as steel. “He’ll kill ye, Aspyn, as soon as look at ye.”

“But I can go to a hotel or back to the hospital, for that matter.” She glared at him. He wasn’t listening to her. Typical stubborn man.

Callum went back to his frantic typing. “What part of danger don’t ye understand? You can’t stay in Chicago. They know where you live, they tracked you down. They’ll keep tracking you down, until they find you.”

“Why with you? Aren’t you in just as much danger?”

He looked up at her again. “Because I’m the only one who can protect you from them.”

She snorted in disgust. “I managed okay on my own.”

Callum glanced down at the man on the floor. “You killed a shifter in human form.” He jerked his thumb at the wolf. “You’d have been dog food in another minute if I hadn’t been here.”

It suddenly hit her that she’d killed a man. She was supposed to be saving lives, not ending them. Her knees suddenly went weak and she sank to the floor. A distant part of her mind kept chugging along, taking stock of how she felt. I’m going into shock.

Callum spun around suddenly, frowning down at her, apparently surprised to find her sitting down.

“You do have a passport, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I got one last year, for vacation.”

He nodded and went back to the laptop, talking while he typed, pretty much ignoring the fact she was shaky and sweating, probably pale as a ghost. “Can you find it quickly? Go get it.” She huffed out a breath of frustration. If he was so fixated she might as well just go get it and get it over with. She rose to her feet. As she left the room she heard him ask her a question. Now it was her turn to ignore him.

She ruffled through her dresser drawer. The passport was exactly where she left it, in a box with odds and ends of her mother’s old jewelry. She lifted it out, flipping open the cover, running her finger over the stamp. Charlie had taken her to Fiji, a surprise trip. If that had been the limit of the surprises in their relationship, she'd have been happy.

This is a nightmare. She wanted this to end. She wanted her own life back, even if that life was crazy and complicated. At least she was used to her own brand of crazy. She went back to the living room. Callum turned, flashing her an impatient look.

“Birthdate?”

“September 19th.”

“Year?”

She hesitated long enough for him to shoot her another sidelong glance. “I need it for the tickets.”

She told him the year. He went back to typing, then sat back. Finally he printed a few pages, glanced at them and then folded them and stuck them in his pocket. Then he turned in the chair. The look he gave her was deadly serious.

“Go pack, just a carryon. And if you have another set of whoever these belong to, I’d appreciate a change of clothes.” He plucked at the t-shirt. It stretched tightly across his chest, the sleeves barely containing his biceps. She hadn’t really noticed in the baggy scrubs, but the tight shirt clearly showed how muscular Callum was.

Aspyn looked away. Her emotions were a tangled mess, and his demanding attitude only made things worse. But somewhere beneath all of that was another feeling, something dark and primal, something boiling inside her. She didn’t like it, didn’t like how it made her feel, and looking at Callum only deepened the feeling.

“I don’t want to go with you to Scotland. I want you to go away. I can take care of myself. I’ve done it before…”

“Like ye took care of the owner of these clothes? Or you’ve taken care of whatever he did to you?”

She jerked her head up. “That’s none of your business.”

Callum shrugged. “You’re on the run, if my guess is right. Someone hurt you and you ran.”

Anger flooded through her, burning away everything else. “You do not know me. Not at all. So don’t think you can make judgments based on clothes in a closet or whatever else you think figured out.” She got to her feet, shaking with anger. “Just mind your own business.”

Before she could even turn to storm out of the room—or shoot another withering comment at Callum—he pushed away from the desk, brushing roughly past her as he moved toward the window, peering outside. His whole body radiated tension and she froze in place.

“We need to go, now.” He turned back, eyes piercing through her with their intensity. Her heart stalled, then went off on a racing pace.

“Do you have your car keys? Is there another way out of here?”

“What is it?” Her hands had gone numb.

“The other guy. He’s outside. I told you he’d find ye…us.”

“I’ll just go get…” She turned down the hall but Callum grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.

“There is no time. We need to leave.” His voice was low, steely cold, impassive.

She wanted to protest, argue with him, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He pulled her toward the broken doorway, stepping across the body of the dead man. She managed to grab her purse as he hustled her into the hallway.

“Back way out? He’ll come through the front, I’m sure of it. It’s where your scent is the strongest, mine too. He’ll catch the scent of blood.”

“This way.” She turned away from the front door of the building, leading Callum toward the back of the complex. “There’s a fire exit down here.”

Callum was right behind her as they ran down the hall, turning sharply left at the end. Callum pushed ahead of her, hitting the fire door with his shoulder, and they came out into a small alley that cut between the complex’s buildings. It was getting light, the sky in the east a fuzzy gray.

“Give me your keys. Where’s your car?”

“Please tell me you’re not going to steal my car.” She fished her keys out of her purse. “It’s in the front parking lot.”

“If I wanted to do that, I’d have done it long before now.” He took the keys from her, stuffing them in his pocket.

“The parking lot’s this way.” She headed down the sidewalk that cut around the building to the lot. Callum pulled her back roughly, and she smacked her head against the wall as he pushed her against the building.

“Hey…”

“Wait here.” The deadly serious low tone of his voice silenced her.

She rubbed the back of her head as she watched Callum sprinting down the sidewalk. He hung close to the building and for a minute she lost him in the shadows. Then she caught movement as he slipped around the corner of the building.

Aspyn waited, almost holding her breath, hoping he’d run off, that he wasn’t coming back. For a minute she wanted to go back inside, back to her apartment. She could find a spare set of keys, get out front, get her car…

The screech of tires on pavement made her jump. She flattened herself against the wall as her car came screaming around the corner of the building, lights off, tearing up the rain-soaked grass. The light from the parking lot flashed on the windshield and made it impossible for her to see who was driving but the driver’s window was down and Callum stuck his head out.

“Get it.” He waved at her. “Now!”

Her trance broke and she sprinted across the grass, slipping as she rounded the front of the car. The door handle was wet and she fumbled to open the door. Yanking the door open she tumbled in. The car shot off before she had the door closed.

“Which way is the airport?” Callum turned the car, heading toward the side street.

“O’Hare? That way.” She pointed to their left. The car lunged onto the street and Callum turned right.

“You’re going the wrong way.” She turned, looking over her shoulder. “I said it’s that way.”

“I know. But I’m hoping he doesn’t.” The terse reply was accompanied with a jerk of the car as Callum jammed his foot down on the accelerator. Her car shuddered, hesitated, and then managed to jump forward.

“Is he following?” Aspyn turned again, looking down the dark street. Many of the streetlights in this neighborhood had been broken and she struggled to see behind them.

“He’s there. Lights off, about a hundred yards back.” Callum’s eyes flicked between the road and the rearview mirror. “Hold on.”

Callum wrenched the wheel to the right and the car shot down a narrow alley. Aspyn was flung against the door as the car skidded on the wet pavement. A short distance ahead Callum braked hard and the car slid sideways. There was a break in the fence that ran down both sides of the alley and they were in front of a driveway.

Before she could say anything Callum turned into the driveway. He hit the gas again and the car almost crashed into a garage.

“Damn. What the hell?” He slammed on the brakes and Aspyn jerked forward in her seat. “There’s no way out.” The garage was more like a warehouse, stretching across the width of the driveway.

“There. On the left.” Aspyn saw a gap between the building and a hedge. Callum didn’t hesitate but turned the steering wheel and hit the gas. The car shot forward, the hedge scraping against the driver’s side of car. A garbage can appeared out of nowhere but Callum ignored it, hitting it with the front fender. It sailed back, landing on the trunk with a sickening thud.

Callum floored it and the car shot out onto another yard, this time a front yard of a very upscale house. The car chewed through the lawn and shot back out onto the street. Callum turned toward the airport, pushing the car to its limit.

“With any luck we’ve lost him. If we can get to the airport and past security, we should be safe. Unless he’s got a ticket on the same airline.” Callum threw a quick glance at Aspyn. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m not sure my car’s going to survive this kind of treatment.”

Callum pushed the car and the speed limit all the way to the airport. Callum negotiated the maze of surface roads at O’Hare, finally pulled into long-term parking. He cut the engine and tossed the keys to a shell-shocked Aspyn.

“We go in, get through security and then wait at our gate. The plane leaves in about four hours. I don’t think we were followed, but he’s smart enough to know where I’m heading.”

Callum climbed out of the car and Aspyn watched him scan the parking lot. For a wild moment she the urge to slide over, start the car and drive away. But as if he read her mind Callum turned and looked at her through the windshield. He walked around, pulled open her door, and held out his hand.

“I know ye don’t want to do this, but there’s nothing else we can do. You’re in danger and from someone who is a trained killer, and a shifter.”

Grabbing her purse, she took his hand and let him pull her out of the car. “You’re right. I don’t want to go with you.” She looked up at him but in the dim light of the ramp his face was unreadable.

Callum leaned past her, pushing the car door shut. To her surprise he pulled her against him, quickly and somewhat gingerly patting her back. Just as suddenly he let her go.

“Come on. We need to hurry.”

Callum strode away and she watched his retreating back for a moment. He was a real man of mystery, plus an arrogant bastard. And he was dragging her halfway around the world because someone wanted him dead. She’d been sucked up into something that wasn’t her life, wasn’t her fight.

She followed after him, their steps echoing in the nearly empty ramp. He’d stuck them in the lot furthest from any building and it seemed to take forever to get to the terminal. O’Hare was a complete mystery to her. The trip from Fiji had been out of Hartsfield in Atlanta. Another airport, another life.

Exhaustion and the aftermath of everything that had happened: the terror, the shock—the unexplainable—was taking its toll. She was numb with shock and fatigue, and found herself following doggedly behind Callum, letting him lead her through the maze of ticketing and security. She answered questions and did as she was told, displayed her passport, and explained she had no luggage. She was desperate now to just go to curl up somewhere and go sleep, and pretend this was all a nightmare.

Finally Callum led her to a seat at the gate. She dropped into it and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. Her mind took off on a wild train of thought. Maybe she should just find an airport security guard, or whatever they were called, and claim Callum was kidnapping her.

And then explain to him that I killed a man with a baseball bat, and there’s a dead wolf in my living room? And, oh, by the way, the man who kidnapped me, he was pronounced dead earlier this evening.

“Are you hungry?” His voice came to her from far away. She nodded, eyes still closed.

“Stay here. Don’t move.”

She had no intention of moving. If she had her way he’d forget about her and get on the plane alone, and she could just go home. That was the thought she had as she drifted into a restless state between wakefulness and sleep.

“Here.”

She felt something bump her arm. Groggily she opened her eyes, blinking. Callum was holding out a sandwich and a can of soda. She took them, sitting up in her chair.

“Thanks.”

The sandwich was from a vending machine but as Aspyn opened it she realized she was starving. Her sandwich was gone in a few bites and she sat back, drinking the soda. Callum chewing more slowly, eyes restlessly scanning the crowds.

“How long is the flight?”

“Fifteen hours, give or take. You’ll have time to sleep.” He glanced at her and she caught a hint of smile on his face.

“What?”

“You snore.” The smile broadened briefly into that cocky grin before he looked away and went back to his sandwich.

“I do not.” He was insufferable. She crossed her arms over her chest. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Ye’ll like Scotland. It’s a very beautiful country.”

She thought he sounded wistful. Maybe he missed his home. But she wasn’t going home; she was being dragged from hers. “I’m sure it is. But I’m not there for sightseeing, now am I?”

Callum turned to her, the wistful look gone. For an instant she regretted the harshness of her words. “No. I guess not.” He took the wrappers from the sandwiches and stood, heading toward a trash can. Aspyn watched him walk away. He was insufferable and inscrutable.

She looked around the terminal. Most of the travelers were laughing, anticipating the adventure ahead of them. There was a couple sitting not far off, holding hands, heads close together. The man leaned over, kissing the girl gently on her temple, and she turned and gave him such a loving smile it made Aspyn’s heart swell with emotion. Were they going on their honeymoon, making new memories for a future together? She wondered how she and Callum looked to those around them. They were sitting far away from everyone else. And she was pretty clear the tension between them was obvious.

He came back and sat down next to her. They spent the rest of the wait in silence, Callum watching the crowds and Aspyn trying to make sense of it all. It was so fucking surreal. There were too many pieces to this puzzle and none of them fit together. She’d reconciled herself to the fact that Callum really hadn’t died in the ER. She could get her mind around that. He might be crazy…or now she was. Something bizarre had happened in her apartment but here, sitting in the terminal, it all seemed distant and unreal.

Her head ached and all she wanted was for this to be done. And if that meant she had to follow Callum to Scotland, then she wanted this part to get started, so she could get whatever it was over with and get back to her own life.

* * *

Callum watched the gate area gradually filling up with passengers. There were a few families, mostly, along with a few who he thought were businessmen, carrying briefcases and having animated conversations on their cell phones.

No one aroused his suspicions. Among all the smells of the terminal he couldn’t catch the scent of the man who’d been in the alley and then had shown up at Aspyn’s apartment. He didn’t want to let down his guard, but he was cautiously optimistic he’d lost the man who was following them.

Aspyn had fallen asleep again, shifting uneasily in her chair until she’d ended up with her head resting against his shoulder. He watched her sleep for a minute. Her face looked softer, relaxed. It occurred to him it was the first time he’d seen her where she wasn’t either trying to save his life, or trying to save her own.

He sighed; this had gotten so much more complicated than he’d ever imagined. Getting involved with a woman who wasn’t a shifter had always been complicated. Getting involved with her when his life was in danger just made everything worse. Plus it put Aspyn in danger. None of this was what he wanted. He turned back to watching the crowd.

But her scent came to him, subtle, distinctly feminine, and vaguely tinged with her fear. His thoughts wandered back to Aspyn. She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met, at least one who wasn’t a shifter. He expected those women to be tough. But Aspyn had gone after him with a bat and then she’d killed a shifter with it. He absently rubbed the place she’d hit him. It occurred to him he was damned lucky she hadn’t caught him alongside the head or he’d be dead as well.

The boarding call began for their flight. Aspyn stirred, moving against him, then sitting up abruptly when she realized where she was. And apparently who she was leaning against.

“Do I have time for a trip to the ladies?” She rubbed her eyes.

“Yes. Just don’t dawdle.” Even as he said the words he realized how gruff he sounded. Aspyn glared at him but remained silent as she rose and headed off.

He watched her walk away. For the first time he took a long look at her. And he smiled.

* * *

Aspyn followed Callum onto the plane. They weren’t seated together and for a moment Aspyn panicked. The flight attendant led Aspyn to her window seat and she craned her neck, looking for Callum in the crowd. He’d disappeared and she sat back in the cramped seat, her heart racing. She’d wanted to be rid of him, but now that she was alone, she was scared.

The businessman seated next to her immediately started on a monologue about himself, his business, where he was going, where he was from. She heard only half of what he said and she really wished he’d just shut up. Her nerves were shot and his non-stop babbling was driving her crazy. She turned her face away from him, thinking he’d get the hint. Or assume she was asleep. But he kept on, leaning forward so she was sure to catch every word.

The man’s words cut off abruptly. Aspyn breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he’d gotten the message that she wasn’t interested in listening.

“You can stop pretending to ignore him.”

Aspyn jerked her head toward the voice. Callum was sitting in the seat where the businessman had been.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t look at me like I broke his neck and stuffed him in a bin somewhere. I just asked him nicely if he’d change seats with me.”

From the look in Callum’s eyes she didn’t think nicely had figured into his request. But she didn’t care. She felt an absurd rush of relief.

The plane started moving and a brief flash of anticipation filled her. She loved to fly. It would be nice if she could fly without memories of Charlie surfacing. And now, sitting here with Callum, heading to Scotland to avoid certain death by a werewolf, she was pretty sure any future trips were going to be tainted as well. The flight attendant went through her safety spiel and the plane started taxiing down the runway.

She looked out the window, watching the tarmac speed past them, the plane gaining speed. Despite everything she felt herself smiling. Lifting off always made her feel hopeful and optimistic.

“Look, you can see…” She turned to Callum, but what she saw stopped the words dead on her lips.

His eyes were squeezed shut tightly, features contorted in a grimace. His fingers were welded to the the seat rest in a death grip, knuckles white. For a minute she didn’t think he was breathing.

“Callum?” She put her hand on top of his. Immediately he gripped her hand with his other hand, almost breaking her fingers.

“Callum…let go.”

He turned to her, a look of abject terror in his eyes. For a moment she was confused, but then it dawned on her.

“You’re afraid to fly.”

“Just the take offs and landings, and the part in between. And in small planes.”

She wanted to laugh. They were on commercial jet, certainly not a puddle jumper. But he looked miserable. Very gently she tried to peel his fingers off of hers.

“Callum, you’re hurting me.”

He looked down at their clenched hands as if seeing them for the first time. “Oh, sorry.” He let go of her. But as soon as she’d gotten her fingers free the plane shuddered as the wheels left the tarmac.

“Oh, fuck.” Callum grabbed her hand again, pulling it against his chest. She let him hold her hand this time, despite the pain. The plane started climbing and Callum went rigid in the seat, head back against the headrest.

Aspyn slid her fingers along the inside of Callum’s wrist. His heart rate through the roof. She leaned forward, looking closely at him. His face was covered with sweat, his breathing shallow. He was either going to hyperventilate or throw up. Neither was appealing.

“Callum. Hey…” She shook his hand, leaned close to him, raising her voice. “Callum. Look at me.” He turned his head, eyes wild.

“Jesus, Callum. Breathe…come on. Focus on my voice and take a breath. You can do it.”

His eyes were locked with hers but his breathing was still shallow and fast. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Shit…he was going to pass out.

Reaching forward, she grabbed one of the ridiculous little airsick bags, opening it one-handed and shoving it at Callum.

“Callum. You’re going to breathe into the paper bag, okay? Trust me…it’ll help.”

He looked down, took the bag, held it over his nose and mouth, and started breathing rapidly into it, watching her over the top of the bag. His eyes went wider and he started to shake.

“Slow down…slow breaths…deep breaths.”

Callum pulled in a deep breath. Aspyn nodded and smiled. “Yeah, just like that. Do that again…blow it out…”

He exhaled, drew another breath, and then another one. His heart beat beneath her fingers was still fast, but it was slowing. His eyes had lost that panicked, wild look, and he nodded at her.

“Is he alright?”

Aspyn looked up. The flight attendant leaned over from the aisle, watching her and Callum, concern on her pretty face.

“I’m a nurse. He’s fine. Just a mild panic attack. Could you bring us a ginger ale?”

The flight attendant nodded, smiling down at Callum. “Sure thing.” She straightened, her hand resting briefly on Callum’s shoulder, and then she headed down the aisle. Aspyn watched her walk away.

“You’re charming, even when you’re turning green.” Aspyn turned back to Callum. His heart rate had slowed, his breathing slower, deeper. He finally let go of her hand, pulling the paper bag away from his face.

“Thanks.” He looked down at the bag in his hands. “I really hate flying.”

“No kidding. How do you feel?” She took his wrist in her hand again, sliding her fingers along the inside of his wrist. “Your pulse is back to something close to normal.”

“Better. It’s not been quite this bad before.” He gave her a rueful grin. “I’m sure ye think this is pretty ironic, the big bad wolf is afraid to fly.”

She did think it was ironic, and kind of funny. But she couldn’t really tell Callum that. At least not now. Maybe later, when he’s not in danger of throwing up on me.

“It’s pretty common. Among non-shifters too.”

“We’re earth creatures, not meant to fly. It’s not natural to be off the ground.”

The attendant appeared with the ginger ale. “Here. You look better. We’ll be in Newark in just a few hours. This will all be over soon.” She pulled out the tray table, fussing over Callum, ignoring Aspyn. “You need anything else, let me know. My name’s Maureen.” Her hand was on his shoulder again, this time the touch more of a blatant caress.

“Thank ye. I appreciate it.” Callum smiled up at Maureen. She gave his shoulder a final pat and sauntered down the aisle.

“She always manages to leave walking away from you.”

“What?” Callum turned to her. “I missed that.”

“Nothing.”

He sipped his ginger ale, closing his eyes briefly. “Thanks. Again.” He set the plastic cup down, fidgeting with it for a moment.

“You know, I really do owe ye my life, Aspyn. And…” He looked at her. There was something hesitant in that glance and it surprised Aspyn.

“…and I really want to say I’m sorry for how this has turned out for ye.”

“Oh, well…” Wasn’t expecting that. “I’m sure it wasn’t what you were planning, was it? I mean, breaking into my apartment and then kidnapping me.”

“Aye, you’re right, it wasn’t my plan.” He grinned at her. “You weren’t a planned part of my night at all. Or my life.”

“Oh.” Even though she knew what he meant, his words stung just a little.

“But ye know, it’s not such a bad thing.” He was looking down into the bubbles of his ginger ale, turning the glass absently in his hands.

“Not so bad?”

“Aye.” He turned to her. “I find you’re growing on me.” There was a softness to his voice and Aspyn’s heart did a little flip in her chest.

“How so?” Is this a path you really want to go down?

He gave her a shrug. “You’re nice. Ye took care of me, more than once. And you can take care of yourself. Not many women can do what you did. I’d expect a woman from my Clan to handle herself, but you…” He shrugged again. “Ye turned out to be unexpected. And I like that.”

She felt her face growing hot. Something like a compliment was the last thing she expected from Callum. There was nothing she could think of to say, not even something flip or sarcastic.

They sat in silence. Aspyn looked out the window at the thick gray clouds outside the window. Maybe down there somewhere was another thunderstorm, possibly the same one that had passed over Chicago last night.

The plane shuddered. It felt like they’d suddenly dropped a hundred feet. She knew that wasn’t possible but still, they’d hit some kind of turbulence.

“Aspyn.” Callum’s voice sounded strained.

She turned to him. “You okay? It’s just a little turbulence. Nothing to worry about.”

He was staring fixedly at her. “Easy for you to say. Your stomach’s not turning over.”

“Sip the ginger ale. It’ll help settle your stomach. If you feel…the need…just head to the bathroom.”

Callum snorted. “I’m not going to be sick. I’ve got more control than that.”

But his face was pale. Aspyn reached out and took his wrist, fingers against his skin. His pulse was just a little fast and at least he wasn’t hyperventilating again.

“I think you’re okay. You can put your belt back on…”

Callum shook his head violently. “I hate those. It just makes it worse. I feel trapped.”

“Okay. Until they put the sign back on just relax. Breathe deeply, slowly…”

He took her hand, winding his fingers through hers. “Aspyn. I appreciate the nursing. But can we just talk?”

“Talk? About what?”

“Anything really. I need a distraction.”

Her brows drew together. “I’m a distraction?”

“No, not you.” He exhaled a short laugh and squeezed her hand. “It’s just…talking takes my mind off the flight, the damn plane is jumping around in the air.”

“I see.” She sat back in her seat. “Anything in particular? Or should I just start rambling on about nothing?”

“We could play twenty questions. I’ll start.” He took a sip of ginger ale. “How long have you been a nurse?” He’d settled back in his seat but she could still feel the tension in his grip.

“About four years. I’ve been at Chicago Mercy about six months.”

“Six months. Before Chicago?”

Aspyn felt her own fingers tense against Callum’s. Too much, too soon.

“Atlanta.”

She kept her eyes focused on the seat ahead of her, but she could tell Callum was looking at her.

“I’m not trying to pry, Aspyn. Sorry. Your turn. Ask a question.”

There were so many questions, too many, really. But only one was at the top of the list.

“Why me?”

She looked over at him, expecting the cocky smile and some smart ass answer. But he was looking at her levelly.

“Because I knew you’d help. I could tell…by the sound of your voice, your touch, that you’re a caring person.”

“There were others there that were just as caring, just as competent, who took care of you tonight.” She was getting a fluttery feeling in her chest and her stomach felt a little unsettled. She was pretty sure it wasn’t the turbulence of the plane causing all that either.

He loosened his grip on her hand just enough to rub his thumb across her knuckles. “There’s something in your scent…something that makes you different from everyone else.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain to someone who’s not a shifter, but there’s an elemental difference between you and everyone else that was in that room tonight. Call it chemistry, call it whatever you like. But I knew, the minute I caught your scent, you were the one I wanted.”

That wasn’t what she expected for an answer. “The one you wanted?” She felt silly repeating his words. You’re not a teenager here, Aspyn. Act your age.

He leaned closer, raising her hand, until their clasped hands were in front of his lips. “Put it this way: under any other circumstances, I’d still want you.”

“Oh.” He was so close to her she could feel his breath on her fingers.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, Aspyn. You’re a fighter, someone who knows how to take care of herself, and others. You’re a warrior with a heart of gold. It’s rare combination. Even among shifters.”

He brought her hand to his lips, glancing at her briefly as if judging her response, then closed his eyes before he brushed his lips across her knuckles. His lips were warm, softer than she’d have thought. The he raised his eyes to hers. They were dark, heavy-lidded. Something primal lurked there, something palpable. She wanted to touch him, touch the wild center of him, to feel that heat. Be consumed by it.

Aspyn was suddenly hot, too hot for the confines of the airplane seat. Her breath came short and fast, heart racing along. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the cabin.

What the hell was this?

Abruptly she pulled her hand away.

“You’re doing that thing again, aren’t you? That ‘seeing is believing’ mind game you pulled on me in my apartment? Nice ploy. Is this the distraction you were looking for? Playing with me to take your mind off flying?” Her voice grew more ragged with each word, something tearing at her that she didn’t really understand.

He glanced past her out the window. “Do you really think I’d that to you, here, at however many thousand feet we are about the Atlantic?”

“Stop being flip. You did that…thing…to me before, to get me to see who, what, whatever you are.”

“But I’m not doing that now. I needed to do that then. Whatever you feel, it’s you. Not me.”

Aspyn folded her hands in her lap. The subtle undercurrent of heat eddied around her, between them. She was pretty sure Callum felt it, that he’d started it. That he fed it.

“I don’t like being manipulated.” She turned toward the window, not wanting to look at those eyes. Not wanting to let him control her.

“Aspyn. I’m not…I didn’t.” He reached for one of her hands and she tensed for a second. But then she relaxed, let him take her hand in his. It was different this time, not the death grip he’d inflicted on her before.

“I’m sorry that ye think I tried to influence you, to make ye feel something ye don’t really feel. I can do that.” He squeezed her hand and she finally looked at him. “But with this, with your feelings… my feelings…never.” He shook his head. “I go on instinct. Trust your instincts, Aspyn.”

“Can I get you another ginger ale?”

Aspyn jerked her head up. The flight attendant was smiling down at Callum. Aspyn caught his look, the briefly cocked eyebrow.

“Would you like something, Aspyn?” He spoke to the attendant without looking away from Aspyn. She glanced back at the attendant. Her smile had gone a little cold around the edges, but her eyes were still locked on Callum.

“A Coke would be nice.”

Callum finally turned to the attendant. “A Coke and another ginger ale. Thanks.”

The attendant nodded and went off down the aisle. There was no lingering touch on the shoulder this time.

“You’ve broken her heart.”

“She’s not my type.” Callum was still watching the attendant walk away.

“Do you have a type?”

Callum turned to look at her, the cocky smile back on his face. “It’s my turn for the next question, not yours.”

She sighed. “Fine. Your turn. Ask away.”

“Whose clothes am I wearing?”

Aspyn went cold all over, her hand clenching involuntarily in Callum’s. But his grip was steady, his hand warm and solid. She wanted to pull away but there was nowhere to go. She was stuck.

“You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“I think it’s something ye want to talk about, to someone. I think it’s a secret you’ve held far too long. One you need to tell.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is time…time to just let this out.

“What the hell. Fine. I’ll tell. You told me your big, bad secret. I’ll tell you mine.” She shifted uneasily in her seat.

“His name is Charlie, Charlie Nichols. We lived in Atlanta then.” Aspyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d said Charlie’s name out loud. It hung in the air, like a bad omen. Or a bad smell.

“He was my fiancé.”

“But is no more?”

“Is no more.” She fidgeted again. “He was abusive.”

“He hit ye?”

“Sometimes. Mostly it was…emotional stuff. He liked to control things…and me.”

Callum was silent. She stole a glance at his face, expecting a look of pity, the same look she’d gotten from the police, from her mother. They’d looked at her like she was a victim. Treated her like she was a victim.

But the look on Callum’s face was as far from piteous. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed. He turned to her and she blinked. The fire in his eyes reflected the anger in her heart.

“I hope ye kicked his arse.”

Aspyn had no choice but to laugh. “Sort of. I mean, I kicked him out, once I got my head on straight.”

“And the clothes? Why keep them?”

“I had a restraining order against him. I locked him out. And I changed the locks. And then I moved. I just packed all his stuff and took it with me.”

It was Callum’s turn to laugh. “So he had to go buy everything new?”

“He did.” Her laughter trailed off. “But it didn’t end there. He violated the restraining order, started stalking me, calling my work, general harassment.” She remembered back to the times she’d found him waiting by her car at the hospital. More than once she’d asked the security guard to escort her to her car. And more than once Charlie had followed her home.

“The police knew us by name. I’d call them on my way home, Charlie would see them parked outside my apartment, and he’d drive on by. The police would tell me that driving by wasn’t a violation and to call them if he came to the apartment.” The bitterness was still there in her voice, in her heart.

“But you had this…what was it?”

“Restraining order. It’s about as valuable as the paper it’s printed on. Anyway, I moved, and then moved again. And he kept finding me. I finally moved to Chicago.”

“And he found you there?”

“Yeah.” She shook her head. “I only know how to be a nurse. It’s not that hard to track down a nurse, I guess.”

“But the clothes? Why do you still have them?”

“The first time I moved, he was in jail…a three-day domestic violence hold. I was in such a panic, in such a hurry to just leave, I threw everything in boxes, including his stuff. They came with me and I didn’t realize they were there until months later. Then later, I just kept taking them with me when I moved. They’re in the same boxes they were in, back in Atlanta.”

“Did you think I was him last night? Is that why you were waiting with the baseball bat?”

She nodded. His voice was calm, steady…still. Like after a thunderstorm at night, when the clouds are gone and the moon comes out. Stillness and calm.

Something inside of her started to crumble, a wall she’d built up all this time. Maybe it’s time to tell the truth. He’s a stranger…who’s he going to tell?

She slumped in her seat, eyes closed. “I’m so tired. Tired of running, tired of him finding me. Tired of the police not doing anything. I thought…maybe this time I could take care of it myself.”

“Ye wanted to fight back.” His voice was soft, the accent deepening. “The warrior in ye came out.”

“I guess you’re right.”

He raised her hand, opening his, until he was holding her hand, palm up. He held it gently, tracing his finger over her palm. Little shivers radiated out, sending a flush of goose bumps up her arm.

Overhead the fasten seatbelt light dinged and the captain’s voice began droning information about landing. But Aspyn barely heard any of it. Her whole being seemed focused on Callum.

“You’re a fighter, Aspyn. Never forget that.” He folded her hand into a fist before he brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. His eyes met hers.

“Never forget that.”

* * *

The layover in Newark was a five hour eternity. It was humid and dank, and to Aspyn the air smelled like a wet dog that had rolled in diesel fuel.

She was beyond exhausted. Callum had taken her to one of the lounges, bringing her a sandwich and soda.

“Sorry it’s sandwiches again. I promise I’ll buy you the most expensive dinner in the best restaurant in Inverness, once all this is over. Anything you want.”

“I’m too tired to care, really.” She took the sandwich, peeling away the plastic. “I just want to sleep. Don’t you ever sleep?” The sandwich was soggy, but she bit into it anyway.

“I’ll sleep later. Once we’re on the plane to Scotland, and I’m certain we’re not being followed.” He turned to her, half a smile on his face. “I’ll let you keep watch.”

Callum was watching the crowd, just like he’d done in Chicago. Chewing in silence, she wondered what he saw, how those people looked to him. Was everyone suspicious looking? Did he catch something in their scent?

She sniffed the air but all she smelled was the tuna in her sandwich, and the musty smell of the airport. She looked down at the remains of the sandwich in her hand. Then she slowly wrapped it back up. Her appetite was gone, her mind and body numb. Even working double shifts at the hospital she’d never been this exhausted. Then again, there had never been werewolves attacking her in her apartment. And she’d never killed a man before.

She closed her eyes. There was a dead man in her apartment. How the hell was she going to explain that? The police must have been there by now. Her landlord would evict her, she’d lose her job. She’d go to jail.

“Callum…” The sandwich fell from her hands, landing on the floor.

“Are you alright?”

She stared dully at the sandwich. A tear slid unnoticed down her cheek.

“I’m sorry.” She reached for the sandwich but Callum pulled her back and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“Come here.” He pulled her down until her head rested in his lap. “Try to sleep. I’ll be here.”

It was harder to relax than she thought it would be, even lying with her eyes closed. It seemed to take hours before she felt herself drifting off. After a while she was aware of Callum’s fingers in her hair, brushing it away from her forehead. She smiled, reached up and took his hand.

“That tickles.” She didn’t bother opening her eyes. She heard Callum’s soft laugh and then his fingers were winding through hers. He settled their intertwined hands on her chest.

“It’s fine. I’m here.”

“I know.”

* * *

Aspyn was curled beside him on the bench in the lounge. She’d finally fallen into a deep enough sleep that he could slip her head off his lap and onto the bench. Exhaustion was finally catching up with him and he needed to move, to stretch.

He circled the bench where Aspyn slept, working the kinds out of his neck and shoulders. Being in a flying tin can was bad enough, but being stuck in an airport was worse. He felt open and exposed. Anyone walking by could be one of Malcolm’s hit men. Or women. Knowing the man, it wouldn’t surprise him if he’d sent a woman.

“Callum?”

Aspyn was sitting up, scanning the crowd, her voice tinged with fear.

“I’m here.”

She spun around, eyes wide “Jeez, you scared me. I thought…”

“Just needed to stretch. Sorry if I scared ye.” He came around the bench and sat down beside her. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“How much longer until our flight?” She stretched her arms over her head, tipping her head back, eyes closed. Callum looked at her. Her t-shirt stretched tight against her. Even though she was voluptuous, she was strong, he could clearly see it in the lines of her body. And that strength was alluring, attractive, sexy as hell.

It awakened something deep in him, beyond just admiration for her strength and her warrior heart. It was a great deal more primal, and a great deal more exciting.

But acting on those feelings was a different matter. As strong as she was, she was also wounded, fragile in a way she’d never admit. Push her and she’d pull away. And he’d lose her.

This wasn’t the right time anyway. They were being hunted in a strange place, certainly no place he was familiar with, no place to turn for help. No one to help them. They were in limbo.

“You slept for a long time. They should starting boarding soon. How do you feel?”

“Groggy. But better. I just want to be out of Newark.”

“Aye, I have to admit I’m anxious to be on my way.”

“You’re looking forward to flying?” She smiled at him. “I can’t believe that.”

“No, not the flying. But the getting there.”

The overhead speaker squawked to life, filling the lounge with boarding instructions.

“Well, it looks like you’re getting closer.” Aspyn stood up, holding out her hand. He looked up at her a moment, saw the smile on her face. He took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. “Come on. We should get in line.”

They crossed to the boarding area. “Do we have seats together? Or are you going to bully someone into giving up theirs? What if it’s a little old lady this time?” She was still holding his hand, smiling up at him. It was nice to see her smile. He’d accept her teasing him, too.

For a moment life seemed almost normal. As normal as he’d ever had. It felt good, right.

He grinned. “Well, for that little old lady, I’ll just be my charming self. You said I’m charming, even when I’m turning green. She’ll be putty in my hands.”

“Cocky bastard.” She was still smiling as they boarded the plane.

* * *

He did manage to end up in the seat next to Aspyn. The flight wasn’t crowded and empty seats were plentiful. A simple conversation with the flight attendant had him sitting next to Aspyn.

“No one to stuff into a bin this time.” He slipped into the seat, fastening his seatbelt.

She turned and grinned. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of chances to stuff people in bins later.”

“Aye. There’ll be plenty of chances.” All too soon.

The familiar shuddering of the plane brought Callum upright in his seat, rigid with panic, heart suddenly thudding wildly in his chest. Aspyn took his hand, winding her fingers through his.

“You’ll be fine. Just breathe, Callum. Breathe. It’s fine. I’m here.”

“Aye, I know.” He gripped her hand, closing his eyes as the plane took off. “And I appreciate it, more than ye know.”

* * *

They were their way home, to his home. Scotland and McCourt Castle. Callum opened his eyes.

“You handled that better than the other flight. I’m impressed.”

He turned to Aspyn. “You’re a good nurse, Aspyn.”

She squeezed his hand. “Are you afraid of what you’re heading toward?” Her voice had lost the commanding tone he’d gotten used to, the voice that told him to breathe, to focus on her. As much as he appreciated that voice, the one that kept him from losing it, this was the one he wanted to listen to.

He looked down at their joined hands. Her fingers looked delicate but there was a strength in them he found very appealing. They were hands that could be gentle, strong, caring…and could kill. It was a heady combination in a woman. Callum found he wanted to test her strength, and not just the strength of her hands. He closed his eyes, a sudden image rising up of her beneath him, on a bed of twisted sheets, each testing the other…

“Callum? I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”

He turned to her, blinking as he focused on her face. Reluctantly he pushed the images from his mind. “You didn’t. No, I’m not afraid. Never afraid. But the man who I believe killed my father is waiting for me. The man who tried to have me killed…”

“Tried to have me killed, too. You called him Malcolm…something?”

“Aye. Malcolm Cameron.”

“He’s a member of your pack? Sorry…Clan?”

“He is, part of my pack, of my Clan.”

“And what do we do when we get to Scotland?”

“We don’t do anything. I find a safe place for you and I confront Malcolm.”

“Not so fast.” Her voice had a sudden edge of anger, anger he’d heard in her apartment, arguing with him over being forced to come with him to Scotland.

“I’m part of this. I’m not sitting in some hotel room, waiting…wondering…if you’re coming back or not. I’m in this now. You dragged me along on this and wherever you go, I go.”

Her eyes flashed and for the first time he noticed how deep blue they were. The anger probably had something to do with that. But this was the first time he’d really paid attention.

“Aspyn…”

She pulled her hand from his. Instantly she was pointing her finger at his chest. “You can’t tell me what to do. You can’t control me. I make my own decisions.”

“Aspyn, I’m not trying to tell you what to do…”

“Yes! You are!” Her voice had risen and a few other passengers turned to look at them.

She sat back in her seat, hands clenched on her thighs, staring straight ahead a scowl on her face. He could feel her anger and frustration, and the helpless sensation of being trapped. It gathered around her like a dark cloud.

“Listen to me, please.”

She turned her head a fraction of an inch, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“I don’t want to control ye. I know ye can make your own decisions. I’m not Charlie. You’re in danger and I’m looking out for ye.”

She looked down, then gradually her hands relaxed. He watched the turmoil on her face and wished there was a way he could lessen it. But this was something she had to deal with on her own. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t fix it for her.

“I know you’re not Charlie. And I know why you’re telling me I can’t go with you.” When she looked at him, some of the anger had left her face. “But that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt to be told what to do.”

“You’re a fighter. But you’ve learned to run. And you have defenses that you’ve put up.”

“And that’s bad?”

“No. Right now, it’s what you needed to do. Neither good nor bad. At least I don’t think so.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “But you still don’t want me to come with you, right?”

He shook his head. “I can’t take ye some place where I know you’d be hurt. You’re too important…”

He caught the look of surprise on her face. “Too important?”

Now it was Callum’s turn to look away. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted this conversation to go. Where was turbulence when you needed a distraction?

“I mean, I owe you a debt.” He looked back to her. The anger had left her face, replaced by bewilderment.

“And…” He leaned close to her, catching her gaze, giving her his most charming smile. “I owe you dinner.”

The moment stretched between them. The bewilderment in her face receded, replaced by an all too knowing look he’d seen before. She settled back, a smile on her face.

“Okay. Play the charm card and don’t answer me. But don’t try to tell me I’m the only one with defenses.”

She was right, but there was no way in hell he’d admit that.

* * *

“How long is this flight?”

He turned toward Aspyn. He thought she’d had been asleep. She’d been quiet, face turned toward the window, for several hours. Over the last few minutes, they’d been flying through increasingly thicker clouds and the plane had started making those shakes and shudders that had his heart—and his stomach—in his throat. He found himself very relieved that she was awake.

“We get to Birmingham in the morning. There’s a three hour layover and then the flight to Inverness. It should land there just after noon.”

“Another layover?” Aspyn stretched. “You know what I’d like, other than another layover? I’d really like a change of clothes and a bath.”

“Same here. I’d like my own clothes.” He glanced down at the t-shirt he was wearing. “But I am grateful to have these.”

“You’d be running around in used surgical scrubs otherwise. I guess I can thank Charlie for something.” She yawned, stretching her arms. “I think it was my turn to ask a question.”

“You just did.” He grinned at her, not missing the eye roll as she settled back in her seat.

“I mean officially, as in the distraction game. I’m bored and fidgety.”

Callum glanced out the window at the darkening clouds. They were headed for bad weather, he could tell, and he’d rather not think about. And if he couldn’t see it, he could ignore it, more or less.

“Alright. I’m up for another round.” He reached past Aspyn for the window shade.

She watched him as he pulled the shade down. “Yeah. I guess you would be.” She turned back to him, eyes intent. If she’d been asleep, she was wide awake now.

“Why were you in Chicago?”

“Business.” He leaned out into the aisle, wishing for a flight attendance to appear. A ginger ale might be a good thing right now. His stomach was doing somersaults.

“Liar.”

He turned back to her, trying to conceal his surprise. She wasn’t looking at him so much as looking into him. For the first time in his life he felt his face growing hot. As much as he wanted to avoid answering her question, he had no choice but to concede the point.

“Am I that bad at lying?”

“Let’s put it this way. You tried so hard to make me believe you, back in my apartment. What you said just now, the way you said it…” She shook her head. “I can read people well enough to see the difference. Besides being utterly charming, you do seem to be incapable of lying.”

His stomach lurched again, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t due to turbulence. No one had ever confronted him before. But he’d also never been caught red handed in a lie.

She grinned at him like she’d won something, and it was apparent she was enjoying his discomfort. “Okay. Let’s start over. Why were you in Chicago?”

He owed her the truth. She’d told him the truth about her life. But the words stuck in his throat.

It had never been necessary for anyone to understand him. In fact, he’d never cared what anyone thought. If he was misunderstood, too bad. But he’d never let anyone, any shifter and definitely never any mortal, get this close to him, or get under his skin the way Aspyn had. Ever. He was suddenly desperate for her to know him, to understand his life.

“This is hard. I want to tell you, but it’s not something I’ve ever told anyone.”

“Does it have to do with your father?”

He nodded, dropping his head.

“Aye, it is. I was sent away.”

He flagged down the flight attendant and asked for that ginger ale. Aspyn waited, fingers tapping on the arm rest, as he was served and then as he took a sip. It really didn’t help his stomach at all.

“Your father sent you away?”

“You could say that.”

“But you want to go back? Now that he’s…that you think Malcolm…” Her words trailed off.

“Aye. Now that I think Malcolm murdered my father. It has to be Malcolm, I’m sure of it. It can be no one else. And yes, I want to go home. I want to claim what is rightfully mine. To lead my Clan.”

“But aren’t you heir, or Alpha, or whatever, of the Clan, simply because you are your father’s son?”

“I am…would be. If anyone knew I existed.”

She blinked, and then blinked again. Confusion crossed her face. He couldn’t blame her. It seemed there was nothing simple about his life. And trying to explain it just made it seem more complicated.

“Wait. No one knows you’re the son of the Alpha? But yet they sent someone to kill you? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Not they…Malcolm. It can only be Malcolm who wants me dead. And only he could have killed my father, in order to take over as Alpha of the Clan.”

“And what part does Malcolm play in the grand scheme of all of this? Why is he the only one who knows who you are?”

“He is my mother’s brother. He is my uncle. My mother was a Cameron.”

Aspyn stared at him. “You’re kidding.” Her brows drew together and she leaned forward. “Your uncle killed your father? That’s pretty intense.”

He nodded. “It is.”

“Where is your mother?”

A single image rose up in Callum’s mind, an old photograph, one he hadn’t thought of in years. A woman with black hair, dark eyes—his eyes, he realized with a start—laughing at the camera. “She died when I was very young.”

Aspyn made a little sound and sat back. “I’m sorry, Callum,” she said after a moment.

He felt her hand in his again and he gently squeezed her fingers. “Thank ye. I have no memories of her, other than what she looked like, from a picture.”

“Can I ask how she died?”

“I don’t know. I just know she was never there.” He looked up at Aspyn.

She held his gaze for a moment. “Who was there? Who took care of you growing up?”

“I was raised here, in the States.” He closed his eyes for a moment. The smell of mothballs, school glue, and overcooked green beans came back to him. The feelings that rose up were that of a small boy, the fear he’d had of the stern women who raised him. Despite the fear he had to smile. It could have been worse, he supposed. Very much worse.

“But to answer your question, I was raised by nuns at a private school.”

“Oh…well…”Aspyn looked at him with a deeply bewildered expression on her face. He hurried on before she started thinking he was making all this up.

“Someone…probably Malcolm, had me sent there. To be raised there and when I was old enough, to be schooled there. To be out of the way. And then forgotten.”

“That must have been horrible.”

“It wasn’t too bad, I suppose. I was scared of them when I was young. They reminded me of big black crows, robes always flapping behind them. And they could terrify a young boy just with a look. But then, I discovered what I was.”

“And you terrified the nuns?” Aspyn made a face. “Please tell me you didn’t chase the nuns around the school as a wolf.”

He leaned close, his voice almost a whisper. “Worse. I left wolf hair everywhere. Drove them crazy.”

Aspyn burst into laughter. Callum sat back and after a moment joined her. It was a relief to laugh, and to hear her laugh. Some of the anxiousness at trying to tell her his story left him. Aspyn’s laughter gradually faded and after a few minutes she turned back to him. Her lips still held a trace of a smile, but her eyes were serious.

“Did you always know you were a shifter?”

“I knew I was different than the other kids, more than just the accent. But I never knew what it was. Not until the school bully tried to beat me up in the alley behind the school. I changed, right then and there. Scared that kid. And myself, for that matter.”

“And you got kicked out of school? The other kid ratted you out, right?”

“No. The nuns knew what I was. They took me aside, explained to me what had happened, and why. And made me swear to never do it again. The other kid…he was too scared to ever try to bully me again. And I made him swear on pain of death to keep my secret.”

“But you didn’t listen to the nuns, did you? Somehow I don’t see you as a conformist.” She was still smiling and it distracted him in a very pleasant way.

He shook his head, returning her smile. “Never. Like I said, I shifted all the time, left all kinds of wolf hair everywhere.”

“Did you know who your family was, anything about them, or where they lived? That your father was the Alpha?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, slow down, Aspyn. Ye know, you’re past your one question limit here.”

“Screw that. This is way more interesting than twenty questions. Besides, you know everything about me. There’s nothing else to tell.”

He drank the last of his ginger ale. It occurred to him that she was trying to understand him. She hadn’t told him he was delusional or crazy this time. Small progress but it was a step toward some kind of understanding.

“Wait.” She sat forward suddenly. His first instinct was to pull away from her intensity. “Back at my apartment you said that Cameron guy was a power hungry bastard. How could you know that, if you’ve been here in the States all this time?”

“I haven’t been in the States all my life. I’ve traveled a lot, just never back home. I’ve been somewhat of a gypsy. So I’ve heard things. There were other shifters I met…rumors get passed around.” He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable under her scrutiny, by what he had to say next. Why should Aspyn care about a girl I knew years ago? And why do I care if she knows about Brigit?

“There was a girl, a shifter, I met in Canada. She’d come from Scotland, knew of my family. She was the one who finally helped me put most of the pieces together. I’d met other shifters along the way, but they were all from the States. They knew about the McCourts, but only second hand. She had details, first hand knowledge.”

Callum reached inside the neck of the t-shirt, pulling out the talisman. “It was this though that finally helped me figure out the whole story. I found an old medieval text on werewolves, with a picture of a talisman similar to this, with the same inscriptions.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Like a family tree for werewolves?”

Grimacing, he shook his head. “More like a manual on how to kill them. It was pretty detailed. The etchings were quite…descriptive.” He remembered the horror he’d felt reading the text, looking at the pictures, knowing it was written about him and his kind.

“As horrible as it was to read, it gave me my family, my history. And it told me my future.”

“Your future?”

“When I learned my father was the Alpha, it opened up my future for me. If he was the Alpha of the McCourt Clan, then someday I would be Alpha.”

“Except no one knows you exist.”

“Except for that. The talisman is the only proof that I have of who I am. If I’m wearing this, the Clan will know I’m the true heir to the McCourt Alpha. Malcolm doesn’t have a talisman. Or if he does, he has my father’s. And it would be different than mine. I’m sure of it.”

The talisman was warm between his fingers, the raised markings familiar to his touch. He held it a moment longer and then dropped it back inside the neck of the t-shirt.

“So going back isn’t just about getting revenge for your father’s death or being Alpha. It’s making everyone know you still exist.”

“It is that, too.”

Aspyn say back in her seat and blew out a breath. “And I thought my life was a mess.”

* * *

Their flight finally touched down in England. Aspyn looked out of the terminal windows at the gray sky, wondering if there was any place in the world where it wasn’t raining. She followed Callum into the lounge. Another airport, another layover.

“How long?”

“Just a couple hours. You want something to eat?”

“I don’t think I can tolerate another vending machine sandwich.”

The meal they’d had on the plane had been a long time ago, and the snacks she’d eaten later hadn’t stuck with her.

“There’s a restaurant over there. And a cash machine. I’ll be right back.”

She watched Collin walk across the terminal. He seemed more relaxed now that he was on his side of the Atlantic. She couldn’t blame him. No one who seemed suspicious had been on either flight and Callum had watched everyone in the terminals. She was pretty sure he thought no one was following them.

She sat down in the hard plastic seat, almost identical to the one she’d sat in at O’Hare. Her back was stiff and her legs felt like lead. Closing her eyes she let her head fall forward, rolling it from side to side, trying to work the kinks out of her neck.

Beyond that she felt grimy with the dirt of different airports and just as many planes. It was the same feeling she’d get after working a twelve hour shift at the hospital. I really need a shower. I’m disgusting.

“Here.”

She looked up to see Callum standing in front of her, balancing several plastic containers in his hands. “Hamburger and fries, and chocolate shakes.”

He sat down and she took the shake off the top of the stack. They sorted out the various containers and she opened hers. It smelled wonderful. Taking a bite of the burger, she closed her eyes.

“Oh, my God.” She chewed for a moment. “This is amazing.” It might be airport fast-food but it was perfect.

“I thought you’d like it.” He smiled at her. “You look like a girl who’d like enjoy a burger.”

“You guessed right.” She took another bite. They ate in silence, watching the other passengers moving through the terminal. Aspyn had picked up Callum’s habit of eyeing everyone with suspicion. I wonder how long before I can stop thinking everyone is a killer.

“When you’re done, we can walk around for a little bit. Stretch our legs.” Callum glanced over at her. “There’s also a couple shops here. I’ve got enough cash, if you like, you can buy some new clothes.”

“You’re kidding? That would make me a very happy woman.”

“I know how to make you even happier.”

She glanced up at him. “Happier than a burger and new clothes?”

“Even that. I know where you can get a shower.”

“You’re kidding?”

He was laughing at her. “You really don’t believe anything I say to you, do you? There’s a lounge with showers. For a price, one of them is yours.”

“I’d love that. Both that’s…the clothes and the shower.” Aspyn finished the last of her burger, then finished off the remaining French fries. “Hurry up.” She gathered the Styrofoam containers and headed for the nearest trash container.

“You’re not a patient woman, are you?”

She took his hands, tugging him to his feet. “Not with the prospect of a shower and clean clothes.”

He stood, still laughing, and she took the remnants of his food, tossing it in the garbage. “Hey. I’m not done with that…”

“I’ll buy you dinner, or something, later.” She took his hands again. “I’m enjoying the prospect of being a happy woman.”

She followed him through the terminal to a row of shops, and into one that carried clothes.

“All I need is a t-shirt and jeans, and some underwear. Just the basics.” She looked around. It was a high-end shop, and she hoped somewhere in here she could find something simple, and inexpensive. After all, it wasn’t her money.

“I’ll meet you at the register in twenty minutes. Is that enough time to find what you need? Or are you like most women who need an afternoon to find one thing?”

She caught the wolfish grin. With any other man, she’d have taken offense, but with Callum it was more like a good-natured challenge.

“Fifteen.” She tossed him a grin over her shoulder as she headed toward the women’s section of the store.

And true to her word, fifteen minutes later, she was waiting at the register with two t-shirts and a pair of jeans. And a couple pairs of panties and a new bra, in flaming scarlet silk. For some unfathomable reason she was mildly embarrassed by them, so she’d tucked them inside the t-shirts. The only lingerie they’d had were all lace and silk things, a far cry from her usual utilitarian cotton briefs and white bra.

It was silly, really. But she found she was looking forward to putting them on. After a shower, to be clean and wearing something so unlike her normal clothes. She felt decadent and reckless. Even more so because they were being bought for her by a man she barely knew, in an airport halfway around the world.

“You’re a woman of your word. I’m impressed.” Callum grinned at her and dropped a small pile of clothes on the counter. “Did you get everything you needed?”

She nodded. “I did. Thanks for this, I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” Callum reached for her stack of clothes, pushing them toward the clerk. The woman reached for the t-shirt from the top of the stack. As she did, the stack tipped, and a tiny piece of red silk peeped out.

Callum reached out, tugging at the fabric. A little more became visible and Aspyn felt her face turning the same color as the silk between Callum’s fingers.

“Looks like you found something a little beyond the basics.”

“It’s all they had…really. I tried to find something …I’ll go look for something less…” She reached for the panties, trying to tug them away from Callum. He watched her, one eyebrow raised, and that same cocky grin she’d seen before on his lips.

“It’s fine, Aspyn. Whatever you want. Really.” He let go of the silk but held her gaze. “If you really need red silk.”

The clerk had been watching this exchanged with a bemused expression. “Ma’am?” She held up the panties, looking between Aspyn and Callum. “Shall I ring these up?”

“Yes, please.” Callum spoke without looking at the clerk. “If we had more time, I’d ask to have them gift wrapped.”

While the clerk finished ringing up their items, Callum turned to Aspyn. “We’ve got enough time for that shower and then we should get back to the gate.”

The clerk handed him the bag of clothes and they left the shop. “We need to get to the other side of the terminal.” Callum led her through the airport, following the signs for the lounge. The finally found it, tucked away in a corner of the terminal. Callum spoke to the woman behind the counter and in a few minutes Aspyn was following Callum down a hallway. She had a small bag with soap, toothpaste and a toothbrush.

“I’ll meet you back out in the lounge. This time you have a full half hour.” Callum stopped by a pair of doors. “Your

“And this time I intend to use every minute.”

Callum smiled and disappeared behind the door. The area was small, if rather plain, but very clean. Aspyn stripped out of her clothes, dropping them on the floor. The water was instantly hot and she stepped gratefully beneath the spray. She couldn’t remember any other shower that had felt so wonderful.

She been given a small bottle of multi-purpose shampoo and body wash, and she squirted some in her palm. It smelled like artificial lemons, not her favorite scent, but at least it made tons of bubbles. She washed her hair twice and then went to work scrubbing away the grime of multiple airports and airplanes, the smell of fear she knew clung to her skin.

Conscious of the time, she finally turned off the water, stepped out of the stall and toweled herself dry. She quickly brushed her teeth, relishing the feel of clean teeth and fresher breath. The room had a hotel-sized hair dryer and she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling out the tangles. It might be messy, but at least it was clean. And that was worth more than perfectly coiffed hair.

The bag with her new clothes was on a chair and she took out the panties and bra, holding them up. They really were beautiful. And she was still looking forward to wearing them.

She yanked off the price tags from the lingerie. She stepped into the panties, and then slid the bra up her arms. The silk was cool and slippery against her skin, and they fit perfectly.

There was a tiny mirror over the bathroom mirror and she looked at herself. The bra did something amazing to her breasts. They were perky. She’d never thought of her breasts as perky before. She smiled at her reflection. I could get used to this.

With a sigh she pulled on her jeans and t-shirt. It was almost a crime to cover up the lingerie, but she wasn’t sure anyone in the airport would want to see her in just her underwear.

Then an image of Callum flashed through her mind. The thought of him seeing her hit her hard and the wave of heart that washed through her was unexpected, but not unwelcomed.

But it was silly. He was on a mission, thinking about things far more important than what she looked like in her underwear.

She got dressed and headed back to the front of the lounge. Callum was standing near the windows, looking out into the crowds passing by the lounge windows. He was wearing clean clothes, his damp hair curling along the back of his neck. A tiny aftershock of the heat she’d felt in the shower room ricocheted through her but she let it go, pushing the feeling away.

Callum turned and for a minute he just looked at her. Something must be wrong, he saw someone, a shifter.

Then he smiled and walked toward her. “You look refreshed.”

“Refreshed?” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s original.” And a little anticlimactic after her thoughts about him in the shower.

He took another step toward her. “Let me say that a better way. Ye look radiant, Aspyn.”

“Oh, well…” She felt her face flush. “Thanks.”

He stood in front of her, smelling of the same lemon soap she’d used. But on Callum, it smelled anything but generic. He smelled wonderful.

“It’s nice to be clean.”

“Aye, it is.”

His eyes traveled over her. “You’re happy with the new clothes?”

“I am.” She let her eyes drift from his chest down over his legs, clad in new jeans. They didn’t hang off his hips like Charlie’s old jeans had, but hugged his long thighs. She could only imagine what he looked like from behind.

She pulled her eyes back to his face. “And you finally have jeans that fit you.” And boy, do they fit.

“I do.” He held her gaze a moment longer. “We need to go. They’re going to start boarding soon.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

But he didn’t move to leave the lounge, and neither did she. Instead he took another step toward her, reaching out to touch her hair.

“Ye really do look good. But then, I’ve thought that from the first time I saw you.”

“Really?” Her mind went blank and all her focus went to his eyes. They were the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Of course, she’d noticed them in the ER, and later. But now they were almost black. Maybe it was a shifter thing. But she didn’t care.

“Aye, really.” He held a strand of her hair, running it between his fingers. “And ye smell like a sunny day.”

“It’s the lemon shampoo.”

“Aye. Lemon shampoo.” His voice had gone soft. “Then I’ll buy you a quart.”

His lips brushed against hers, soft but insistent. She closed her eyes. It was the only point of contact between them, but every part of her body responded, from her lips down to her toes. No kiss had never done this to her, ever. She wanted it to go on forever.

When he pulled away she almost fell over, leaning toward him, aching for the kiss to continue. She blinked her eyes open. Callum was smiling at her.

“We have to go, Aspyn.”

“Oh. Yeah. The flight.”

His smile went a little lopsided, and a little sad. “Aye. The flight.” He took her hand. “They’re going to start boarding soon.”

“Then I guess we better go board the plane.” She squeezed his hand. “You have a dynasty to reclaim.”

“That I do.”

* * *

Aspyn stood by the terminal window, looking out at the plane that was going to take them to Inverness. Just looking at the plane made his stomach lurch. Callum turned away from the window.

“This is a whole lot smaller than I thought it would be.” She turned, following him to boarding gate. “You going to be okay?”

“It’s a short flight, less time than from Chicago to Newark.” He swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine.”

“Will they have something to drink? Ginger ale or something fizzy?” They took their place in line. There was a couple with a toddler ahead of them, and a moment of chaos erupted around them as the child burst into tears, crying that he didn’t want to get on the plane. Callum was distracted but he could sympathize with the boy.

“Callum?”

“What? Sorry. Not sure.” He glanced at her. “Really, I’ll be fine. Thank ye for your concern though, Aspyn. I do appreciate it.”

There was a beat of silence from Aspyn. “Well, it’s not just you I’m worried about.” The toddler was briefly subdued, and then bundled onto the plane. They took another step toward the gate. Another step closer to being on that tiny plane.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “And who is it you’d be worried about?”

“If you’re out of it, who’s going to take care of me?”

He looked down at her, almost surprised by her words. She had to be one of the most capable women he’d ever met. But she did have a point. “I think you’d be able to take care of yourself. But you’re right, I wouldn’t want you to have to deal with a shifter, or anyone else, alone.”

The boarding went quickly, far more quickly than Callum would have liked. The minute his feet left the tarmac, his stomach started rolling. As much as wanted to be home—needed to be home—soon, driving didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

Not long after takeoff the plane began bouncing around, and the more he tried to ignore it, the worse it became. Callum closed his eyes, trying to wish away the nausea.

“Here…give me your hand.”

He looked at Aspyn, held out his hand. They’d discovered there was no ginger ale on the flight and he’d had a minor panic attack.

She took his hand, turning it palm up. “Just relax.” Her fingers slid up his wrist. They were cool and soft

“Are you taking my pulse again?”

“No. Not this time. It’s acupressure.” She rubbed on a spot on his wrist, pressing her thumb into him.

“Does it work?” He frowned, watching whatever she was doing.

“Give it a minute. Just do your breathing.”

“You make me sound like I’m having a baby.” But he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, letting it out. He didn’t really care if what she was doing worked or not. But he found he did care that she cared enough about him to make him feel better.

“Twenty questions?” She continued to massage his wrist. “Distraction?”

“Okay.” He tipped his head back, eyes still closed. His stomach had stopped lurching and he realized he did feel better.

“What do we do when we get to Scotland?” The pressure on his wrist stopped, but she still held his hand, winding her fingers through his.

“We rent a car. Find a place to stay, you get some rest and food. And then…” He opened his eyes and turned to Aspyn. “Truthfully, I have no idea.”

“No storming the castle?”

“It’s not really the kind of castle ye can storm. And there would be only me storming it.”

“Hey. I’m here.” She squeezed his hand. “I want to help you deal with Malcolm.”

“Aspyn. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I want to. I’m sort of invested here, you know?” Her eyes were soft and he thought he saw tears. He returned the pressure, rubbing this thumb across her knuckles.

“But I can’t put you in any more danger. Whatever I do, I do alone.”

Aspyn held his gaze for a moment and then turned toward the window. He could feel the conflicting emotions roiling inside her, saw them flash in her eyes before she looked away. She was angry at him, obviously. It was pretty clear she didn’t like being told what to do, or to hear no for an answer.

There was fear in her as well, fear for herself. He could smell the sharp tang of it on her skin. She’d been terrified since he’d come to her apartment, first of him, then by Malcolm’s assassins. He’d turned her life upside down. He couldn’t blame her for being afraid.

But there was something else in all those emotions, in her words, the way she looked at him. He almost didn’t want to admit it, was afraid if he put a name to it, that it would diminish it somehow, or it would disappear. Or it would turn out to be just his imagination. But he thought that she cared about him, about his safety…about his future. It brought him up short to think she could feel that way.

Callum wondered about this woman sitting beside him, dragged halfway around the world against her will, who now was willing to take on his fight as if it was her own. He settled back in his seat. She was amazing. But he was still responsible for her, responsible for keeping her safe.

But there was no way in the world he’d let Malcolm Cameron get anywhere near her.

* * *

“We’ll hire a car here.”

Aspyn looked up at Callum. He pointed across the terminal. There was a car rental agency desk in one corner, across from baggage.

They’d finally landed in Inverness. She’d held his hand during the landing, Callum suffering in silence as the plane bumped down onto the runway. Now he led her through the airport to the car rental desk. Exhaustion was creeping up on her fast and right now, all she wanted was a shower and sleep.

“Do you have a license to drive here?” Aspyn trailed after Callum to the rental car lot.

“I have an international license. Ye saw it in my wallet.”

They threaded their way through the rows of parked cars, Callum searching for their car. He finally found it, stopping to open the passenger door for Aspyn. She climbed in and he closed the door.

He got behind the wheel and then turned to her with a smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve driven on the wrong side of the road.”

The sky was full of gray clouds, the air heavy with mist. She wasn’t surprised that it was raining again. But here even though the clouds hung low, they were somehow luminous and they only seemed to make the colors of the buildings they passed, the fields they drove by, somehow deeper, richer.

“We’ll be in Inverness proper in a little while.”

“It’s beautiful here.” Aspyn looked out the window, watching the countryside flash by. The fields were a patchwork of soft greens and grays, finally giving way to parking lots and business. Callum drove them further into the city, down narrow streets and over a bridge.

“The River Ness.”

“As in Loch Ness?”

“Aye, tis the same.”

“I’m really bad at geography. I feel like I should have known that.”

Callum glanced at her. “It’s not your home, so I wouldn’t expect you to know much about it.”

“But it’s your home…”

She caught his smile. “Aye, and I know what it is. But I know what you mean. And I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place. We need sleep and I need to come up with a way to get to Malcolm.”

“Are we back to the argument of you going there without me?”

“We’re not arguing…”

There was a sound to Aspyn’s left. For a moment she thought it was fireworks and looked up into the sky. But it was daylight; why would there be fireworks in the daylight.

Callum made an inarticulate noise beside her, a growl crossed with a curse. The car shot forward, weaving through traffic.

“Get down.”

“What? Why?”

There was another popping sound and suddenly there was glass flying through the car. Something grazed her face and then her lap was full of shards.

“Someone’s shoot at us. Will you get down?”

Callum slammed on the brakes, yanking the wheel hard to the right. The car shot down an alley, flying between tall brick buildings, banging into metal cans. The side mirror snapped off. Aspyn starred with detachment at the broken glass in her lap.

She was flung against the door as Callum flung the car around another turn, and then another.

“Do you know where you’re going?” She braced one hand on the dash, jerking her head to look at Callum.

“I’m trying…”

They tore out onto a street crowded with cars. Cars were stopped ahead of them and Callum slammed on the brakes. They skidded on the wet pavement among the sound of honking horns. Aspyn looked behind them through the ruined back window. A huge truck screeched to a halt inches from their rear bumper.

Aspyn cringed, looking up at the truck driver, expecting to see a gun. But all she saw was an angry man giving them the finger, his mouth moving in unheard curses. Aspyn burst out laughing, then slapped her hand over her mouth. Callum threw her a scowl.

“Sorry. It’s just that it’s not him…not the guy with the gun. He’s not behind us. It’s just a pissed off truck driver.”

They inched forward a few car lengths. “You do know where you’re going?”

“I’m trying to get to a place I know we’ll be safe.” Callum craned his neck, peering ahead in traffic. “I think we’re almost there.”

“I sure the hell hope so. I’m suddenly not so charmed by your home country, now that someone here is trying to kill me.”

* * *

Aspyn bolted up the stairs and ran through the door of their room. Callum was right behind her and she heard the latch click shut and the sound of the lock being turned.

“We’ll be safe, Aspyn. The owner’s a shifter. Not one of my Clan, but a man I’d trust with my life. No one will be able to get at us here.”

She spun around, frowning at Callum. Something wasn’t right, something he’d told her in her apartment.

“You’re shaking.” He reached for her but she took a step back.

“How do you know someone in Scotland, if you haven’t been here since you were little?”

“Brigit…the girl I knew in Canada. Her father owns this place. I met him once when he came to visit us… visit Brigit. He told me if I ever managed to come home…I’d have a place to stay.”

“You know, sometimes you leave a whole lot of details out of your stories.”

“Aspyn, I had no idea we’d be followed. My life is complicated, ye know that. I canna tell you everything about me, on the off chance it will come up later.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “But we are safe here. Trust me.”

Aspyn looked around. It was a low-ceilinged room, with a deep-set window with a padded seat. It was quaint and cozy. And totally out of character for where she thought they should be hiding from killer werewolves.

“This doesn’t look like a safe house. It looks like an old Scottish inn.” She paced across the room to the window, staring down into the cobblestone street.

“Aspyn. Relax. You’re safe.”

She spun around to face him. “Relax? You’ve dragged me almost halfway around the world. I’ve been attacked, no once, but twice. In two different countries! Someone shot at me. How can I relax?”

Her breath was coming fast and she couldn’t tell anymore if she was angry or scared or something else.

Callum cross the room, stopping in front of her. “I’m here. Ye’re safe with me. Ye know that.”

He reached out abruptly, pulling her against his chest. She resisted for a second, but only a second. Her heart was racing, but from all the conflicting emotions racing through her something deep and primal was clawing its way to the top of the pile.

Suddenly and undeniably she wanted him. Badly. He may have thought he was comforting her, calming her nerves, giving her a pat on the back. But he’d started a fire raging inside of her, a fire she had no desire to quell. It was a fire she only wanted to feed, to be consumed by.

“I need a distraction.”

He cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at her, a half grin on his lips. “From being afraid?” His arms tightened around her and she reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“From everything.” The only sound in the room seemed to be the too-loud beating of her heart.

“I think I can provide a suitable distraction for ye.” His voice was low and it only served to fan the flames. He bent his head and then hesitated, dark eyes watching her. She breathed a sound of frustration. Arrogant bastard.

Then his lips were on hers, warm, hard, and every other thought in her was burned away, leaving only her desire for him, for his body. For what she wanted from him.

The bone-deep fear she’d been living with for over twenty-four hours dissolved, replaced with a need greater than she’d ever known. She pressed against him, reaching for him, and he gave her what she wanted.

His tongue slipped between her lips and she moaned a little. The moaned deepened as his tongue played in her mouth and she responded, flicking her tongue along his.

Callum’s hands moved down her back, fingers teasing along the waistband of her jeans. The roughness of his touch should have bothered her, frightened her, but it was so elemental, so right, that she craved more.

His hands slid up beneath her t-shirt, palms splayed across her back. There was nothing she could do but press herself against his body. He was all male, regardless of all this shifter stuff. Hard muscles tensed beneath her hands, against her body as he held her.

She wiggled in Callum’s grasp and he smiled against her mouth. His hands slid further up her body and she shamelessly raised her arms. He broke the kiss but the smile remained. Wordless he pulled her t-shirt over her head.

His looked from her face and to her bra-clad breasts. Aspyn thought it was entirely possible for the bra to spontaneously combust from the heat of his gaze. But before that could happen, he reached behind her, his strong fingers undoing the clasp. The bra fell to the floor and she took a deep breath.

It had been a long, long time since Aspyn had been here, like this with a guy. For a split second Charlie rose up on her mind, controlling, cruel. But he’d been familiar, even if he’d been cruel. Callum was a stranger, someone she barely knew. Someone with deeper secrets than she had.

But she trusted Callum. With her life. And now, here, she trusted him implicitly.

She forced all those thoughts out of her mind. Callum’s hands were sliding back up her torso, with more force than before. He cupped her breasts, thumbs skating across her nipples. A shiver raced across her skin, the nipples pulling up hard. The sensation was exquisite, bordering on painful, but the pain was sublime. If he wanted to do this, she wasn’t going to complain.

“Oh…hell…” She watched as he pinched her nipples, rubbing them between his fingers.

“Too rough?”

She closed her eyes, her breath coming out in shaky sigh. “No, not at all.”

When she opened her eyes again he was looking at her, a definitely wolfish grin on his lips. She half-expected to see fangs. And she realized she really wouldn’t care if she did.

At the thought of fangs, something primal erupted inside Aspyn. Her heart took a wild leap and she blinked up at Callum. Wordlessly he lifted his arms and she slid the shirt up his torso. She needed to stand on her tiptoes to pull the shirt over his head, and as she did, her breasts brushed against his chest. Callum drew a sharp breath.

She reached forward, undoing the snap on his jeans. Tugging the zipper down, she let her fingers slide through the opening, brushing across his abdomen. His skin was warm, a hard set of muscles lurking underneath.

The jeans hit the floor. She wanted to look down, briefly reconsidered, and then thought to hell with it. She let her eyes drop. And then they widened.

She wasn’t prepared for her reaction to the sight of him. Things went fluid and hot inside her. He was long and hard and clearly ready for her. And she realized that she was ready for him.

She pulled her eyes back up to his chest, managing finally to meet his eyes. His grin was still in place as he looked down at her.

“Distracting enough for you?”

“Perfect.” Her voice was a husky whisper.

His fingers found the snap and zipper on her jeans, had them undone in seconds. They hit the floor a moment later and she was left standing in her panties.

The rest happened in a heartbeat. He scooped her up and she was in his arms, hands pressed against his chest. She looked up at him as he set her down on the bed.

“You don’t waste any time.”

“Do you want me to, Aspyn?” He stopped and she let out an involuntary little noise of dismay. Callum winked. “I don’t think you do. I sure as hell don’t want to wait.”

His hands were back on her body, fingers tugging at the edge of her panties. She lifted her hips and he slid the panties over her legs. He tossed them over his shoulder and they disappeared somewhere behind him.

His eyes traveled over her with obvious desire. It made her breath come up short and her bit her lip. No man had ever looked at her with such hunger and it unleashed something inside her she’d never knew she possessed.

His dark eyes finally climbed back to her face. In one fluid movement he climbed on the bed, coming up between her legs. With no hesitation she parted them for him, hips rising up as he came down on her.

“I’m prepared to make you forget everything that’s happened.”

She laughed. “You’re that good?”

Before she could answer his mouth came down, lips crushing hers. If she’d wanted to give him a smart-ass answer, his kiss swallows her words.

The kiss deepened, his tongue pushing against her lips. She opened to him eagerly, meeting him just as hungrily as he was, lifting her head to meet him.

She wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted any man before, and she wasn’t holding back. She was beyond words, but there was nothing to keep her from making her desires known with her body. She arched against Callum, pressing her breasts into his chest.

The sheets tangled around her legs as she shifted beneath Callum. Frustrated, she kicked at them and then felt Callum smile against her lips. He pulled away, eyes glinting in the soft light from the hall.

“You’re a hellion, Aspyn. I like that. I’ve never wanted a tame woman. You’re anything but tame.”

He reached down, pulling the sheets away from between them. As soon as she was free of them, she slid her legs over Callum’s, wrapping them firmly around his waist. The feel of his hard body beneath her thighs was intoxicating. The movement of his hips against her was blatantly erotic, a not-so-subtle hint to what he was planning. And definitely what she wanted.

Aspyn shivered in anticipation as Callum shifted over her, pressing himself against her. A flash of lightening from the window etched his high cheekbones in eerie light, his eyes reflecting almost silver. The shiver settled deeper, her whole body quivering, on the edge, waiting, aching for what was going to happen next. She was a wanton, open invitation and he was right there, accepting it, and her.

As he slid into her she cried out, everything coming together in a rush of sensation. Her body took off, arching and thrusting against Callum, meeting him stroke for stroke as he thrust into her. It was a wild ride, every part of her body engaged with Callum, matching his pace, following his movements. And then pushing him for more.

She was on a high like she’d never experienced before. Her body was filled with so many sensations she couldn’t separate them. It was too much, and not enough.

Images started filling her mind, things she’d never imagined, wild and dark things, primal images of bodies intertwined. Nothing held still long enough for her to grasp, but all of it excited her.

She was watching them from above, watching Callum as he took her, the muscles of his back moving, hips flexing. In her mind she was everywhere, experiencing everything.

Callum’s hands were everywhere too, touching her breasts, pulling at her nipples, caressing her hips. She was a mass of sensation and arousal, her body climbing toward release.

It all came to a crashing climax, suddenly, overwhelmingly, her body almost levitating as her feet pushed against the bed. She thrashed beneath Callum, head twisting from side to side, fingers tearing at the sheets, clawing at Callum’s back. The images in her mind exploded, shattering, fur and fangs mixing with images of Callum and her, limbs entwined, sweat-slicked bodies heaving.

Callum’s moans were louder, rougher, and she realized he was climaxing along with her, his body joining hers as they hurtled toward this animalistic peak they’d pushed each other to. He jerked against her over and over, practically shouting with each hard thrust.

And then it was over, just as quickly as the storm outside. The crashing and thrashing subsided and they lay side by side. Aspyn tried to catch her breath, every nerve in her body alive, still tingling.

“Was that enough of a distraction?”

She turned to look at Callum, breathing hard, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“I try.”

She caught a glimpse of that cocky grin as he pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her. They lay in blissful silence, the room lit by soft yellow light as the sun struggled to come out. She closed her eyes. Just for a minute…I’ll just close my eyes for a minute.

* * *

“Aspyn.”

“Um…yeah.” She was sleeping, wanted to stay asleep. It was warm here, and her body was deliciously relaxed.

“Aspyn…wake up.”

She rolled over and opened her eyes. The room was dark, much darker than it should have been.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“The sun is almost set. Ye were exhausted. I just let you sleep.”

Abruptly she sat up, wide awake. “You didn’t go off to meet Malcolm while I was sleeping, did you?”

Callum sat down on the bed beside her. “No. I value my life, and yours. I didn’t go anywhere but downstairs, to talk to Fergus. And see about getting ye a decent meal.”

“Oh, God, I’m starving.” Aspyn sat up, pulling the sheet around her. “Let me take a shower, get dressed, and we can go eat.”

Callum shook his head. “You stay here. Shower if you like. I’ll bring dinner up. The kitchen’s closed right now, but Fergus will make us something.”

“I can’t know what he’ll send up, but I can guarantee it’ll be good.” He started to stand, but she put her hand on his knee.

“I’ll take whatever he makes. Thank you, Callum. Really.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “My pleasure. I’ll be right back.” Rising, he moved to the door. “Lock the door after me. I’ll use my key.”

She climbed out of bed, flipping the lock on the door. The silk panties and bra were on the floor and she scooped them up with a smile. The t-shirt and jeans were under the bed. She retrieved them and went into the bathroom.

Leaning against closed bathroom door, she let out a breath. And then to her complete surprise, she burst into tears. Her whole world was turned on its head. She was in Scotland, she’d slept with a stranger who’d been pronounced dead while she was taking care of him. And he was someone who changed into a wolf at will.

She looked around, sniffling. The bathroom was small, but very clean, and rather quaint. It was small and quaint, with a huge claw foot tub, the whole thing enclosed by a rose-sprigged shower curtain. Pulling it back she was happy to see it had a shower. With a sigh she turned on the water, then started pulling off her clothes.

When the water was hot she stepped beneath the spray, pulling the curtain around her, letting the water hit her face. It was the most wonderful thing she’d ever felt. There was a bar of soap on the shower ledge and she unwrapped it, held it to her nose and sniffed. It smelled like roses. Real roses. Not like the artificial lemon-scented airport soap.

It was the first really nice thing she’d come across in days. Working up a rich lather, she washed her hair, letting the bubbles run down over her body. It was heaven, the hot water, the fragrant soap, the chance to take a shower without a time clock ticking.

After a long time she stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body, grabbing another for her hair. Sitting on the edge of the tub she rubbed her hair, cursing the fact that she didn’t have a comb.

When her hair was almost dry she dropped the towels on the floor and pulled on the silk bra and panties. She was tugging her t-shirt over her head when she heard noises in the bedroom. Finally, Callum was back. Her stomach rumbled.

She pushed the door ajar with her toe. “I hope you brought enough food because I’m starving.” There was no answer.

“Callum?” She grabbed her jeans and stepped into the bedroom.

It wasn’t Callum who was standing in the bedroom.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man was standing by the bed. He looked up at her, a brief frown crossing his face. He was older, gray-haired, a scar running down one cheek. His piercing blue eyes held her gaze for a split second, and then he smiled, all sharp-looking white teeth. In that instant—and in that smile—she knew the answer. It was Malcolm Cameron.

* * *

“Get the hell out.” She spoke the words before she even realized what she was saying. And before she remembered she was standing in just her t-shirt and panties, jeans in her hands.

“Ye’re the girl McCourt’s dragged from America. They told me there was a girl.” Malcolm took a step toward her. Aspyn took a step back, bumping into the bathroom door.

His eyes traveled over her, lingering on the red silk panties, sliding over her bare legs. “I didn’t realize ye’d be so pretty. My intent had been to kill ye. But now…” His voice was low and seductive, oddly out of context with his words. She felt just as dirty as if she’d never taken a shower.

It seemed like all the air had been sucked out of the room. There was nowhere for her to go, and it was all too clear whatever Malcolm had in mind for her wasn’t anything she wanted any part of.

“Callum’s coming right back. It’ll be two against one…”

Malcolm threw his head back, his rough laugh filling the room. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

“Ye’re far more than just a pretty girl. I like that. Ye’re a fighter.”

His hand closed around her arm, pulling her roughly against him. He was shorter than Callum, but thicker, heavier. Aspyn knew she couldn’t outmuscle him, and she didn’t have a baseball bat handy.

But he was a man, in human form. She brought her leg up, hitting him in the balls with her knee. He grunted, bent double, and his grip loosened just enough for her to twist away. She scrambled toward the door just as Callum came through. Her elbow hit the plates he held in his hand, food and crockery crashing to the floor. He reached for her but she pointed over her shoulder.

“Callum…” She was breathing hard and it was the only word she could get out. But he was already looking past her. His face went hard, eyes cold.

“Get out, Aspyn.” Callum pushed her toward the door. “Run.”

“Like hell…”

But Callum was already striding across the room, fists clenched. Malcolm straightened and came charging at Callum. The two men met in the middle of the room, both swinging hard, fists contacting with flesh.

Callum had the upper hand for a few swings but Malcolm took the punches like a boxer, coming back from each volley of hits with punches of his own. Aspyn watched in horror as Callum stumbled, trying to catch himself against the bed.

In a split second Callum was on his back, Malcolm pinning him to the floor, hands around his throat. Aspyn looked wildly around the room for a weapon, bending down to sweep up one of the thick crockery plates from the floor.

Malcolm was banging Callum’s head on the floor. With her arms raised, Aspyn leapt across the space separating her from the men on the floor. She brought the plate down on the back of Malcolm’s head. The impact shattered the plate.

The blow was enough to knock Malcolm off balance and he let go of Callum’s throat. Callum twisted out from beneath Malcolm, rising to his feet. Malcolm staggered a few steps away, holding his head. A thin trickle of blood ran down his forehead.

“Ye’ve got a strong woman there, Callum, fighting your battles for ye. Not surprised. It’s how your father acted, how he led the pack. He was a weak man, a weak Alpha.”

Aspyn watched Callum’s face change as Malcolm spoke. Callum’s expression went completely blank, his eyes cold. It was a frightening transformation.

“But he was Alpha, by right and by law. And ye had no right to kill him, regardless how ye felt about his leadership.” His voice was edged with steel. “And I’m the rightful heir now that ye did kill him.”

Callum pulled the talisman from around his neck. “This is proof of my right.”

“Proof. I don’t care about your proof.” Malcolm spat on the floor. “Trinkets don’t make leaders.”

“No, but this proves to the Clan that I’m a McCourt and that I’m the rightful leader of the Clan.”

Malcolm took a step forward. Callum tensed but held his ground.

“What do you know about it, Callum? Your father sent you away when you were a pup. Ye’ve not been here. Ye wouldn’t know what it’s been like. How bad things had gotten.” Malcolm pointed at the talisman. “And no one knows ye even exist.”

“I know ye killed him, in cold blood. Because ye’re a cold-hearted bastard. And when I kill you, they’ll know who I am and that I’m here to lead them.”

There was a sudden bellow in the hall, a crash at the door. A huge burly, red-headed man came barreling into the room.

“What the hell is all the noise?”

The next few seconds were a blur. Malcolm shifted into wolf form with a speed that was startling. Callum lunged toward him, managing to grab only a handful of gray fur. Malcolm threw his body at the window, shattering the glass and disappearing over the sill. Callum and the red-haired man ran to the window.

“Blast. He’s gone.” The red-haired man leaned dangerously far out of the window, looking from side to side. “He disappeared.” He pulled his bulk back into the room, turning to look at Callum and Aspyn. And then, blushing, he turned back toward the window.

Callum stepped back, turning to Aspyn. Concern and fear were written on his features. “Are ye alright?”

“I am. I’m fine.”

“Here.” Callum reached down, grabbing Aspyn’s jeans. “You might want these.”

Aspyn took them with shaking hands and tugged them on. The man at the window studiously ignored her, casting a sidelong glance at Callum as he spoke. His accent was thick, much thicker than Callum’s. It hit her hard that she really was far from home.

“Boy, I truly am sorry. I had no idea that bastard would get inside. I’d have been up here sooner, but Maureen had me in the basement hauling up ale.”

“It’s not your fault, Fergus. Malcolm’s not like other shifters. I’m the one who should be apologizing, for bringing him here on our coattails.”

Aspyn finished with the snap on her jeans. “What do we do know? Now that he knows where we are?”

“We don’t stay here.”

“We run? Where to?” Another surge of adrenaline ran through her at the thought of another mad dash through the narrow streets of Inverness. But Callum was shaking his head.

“No more running. We go to Malcolm. He’s gone back to the castle no doubt. Give him enough time and he’ll gather others to help. We need to get to him first.” He reached out, setting a hand on her arm. “We go to him.”

“We?”

A hint of a smile pulled at Callum’s mouth. “Aye. You get your way. Ye’re coming with me.”

* * *

“Do you know where you’re going?”

The sun had set and the wind blowing through the broken rear window whipped her hair around her face.

“Aye. Castles don’t move. The McCourt castle has been in the same place…”

“For generations.”

He threw her a glance, unreadable in the dark. “Aye. For generations.”

“So we storm the castle?”

“As you put it, yes. We’ve lost the element of surprise. Malcolm knew we were here. Someone followed us from the airport. When they lost us, he tracked us to Fergus’s, came after us himself. I’m certain he’ll be waiting for us at the castle.”

“So we just go in, guns blazing?”

Callum gave a bitter laugh. “I just wish it wasn’t us going there. This is still my fight…”

“Yeah. I know. Your fight, not mine. I’m a warrior, but it’s not my battle.” She turned to him, poking him in the arm with her index finger. “But I am here and you might as well get used to it. I can take care of myself.”

He was silent on the rest of the drive. With nothing to use as landmarks, Aspyn was hopelessly lost. Dark clouds obscured the moon and the only light was the headlights of the car, cutting across the road, illuminating the grassy verge on either side.

Aspyn lost track of time. It felt as if they’d been driving for hours. Finally Callum pulled the car off the side of the road, parking in a stand of trees.

“There.” He pointed into the small valley that ran parallel to the road. “That’s the castle.”

The clouds had grown thinner and a pale wash of moonlight lit up the valley. Aspyn could just make out a darker shadow along the valley floor, something square, definitely a building.

“It’s built over the river that runs through the valley. There was a mill at one time, when there was a small village over there.” Callum pointed up the valley to a large, flat piece of ground, now just a fallow field. “They ground flour at the castle.”

“And that’s important?”

“Aye. I think that’s where we’ll go in. We might as well try to keep ourselves secret as long as we can.”

“How do you know all this?”

Callum turned to her. In the shadows beneath the trees she caught his smile in the brightening moonlight.

“The internet is a wonderful thing, Aspyn. Ye have to know that.” He nodded toward the castle. “Believe it or not, it’s one of the most historic castles in Scotland, because of where it’s located and how it was built.”

“Don’t tell me the Clan gives guided tours.”

His laughter was low, just audible in the dark. “No. But it’s still been studied.” He turned to her, reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”

* * *

Callum led the way down the hillside, wishing for all the world Aspyn were somewhere else. But she was right beside him, working her way through the heather and gorse, muffling her curses as her clothes caught on brambles.

The clouds had blown over, giving them light to see. And giving them light to be seen by. But Callum hoped if anyone was looking for them, they’d be watching the main entrance to the castle, not the old mill building. He’d pointed out to Aspyn where the river flowed beneath one part of the castle. The mill building was long gone, only huge timber supports still marking the spot where building stood, and where the water wheel would have been turned by the force of the river.

“There.” He pulled her down into a shrub, lips against her ear. “See that door?”

She nodded. There was a small wooden door set into the side of the castle, probably where villagers had come and gone, leaving grain and collecting flour.

“We go in there. Malcolm will be somewhere in the main hall, I would guess, rallying the Clan.”

Callum started to rise, but Aspyn put a hand on his arm and he sank back down. “Wait. Look. There’s no one outside, no guards, nothing. Do you really think he’s gone back to tell them he’s failed in getting rid of you?”

Callum frowned at her in the dark. “What are you saying? That he just went home and is going to do nothing?”

“No. I’m sure he’s doing something, but it doesn’t make sense that he’d announce you were still alive, if what he said before is true, that no one even knows you exist. He’d have a hard time explaining there was a sudden heir to the throne. Killing your father…” She shrugged. “Maybe that he could explain that, or he made it look like an accident. But you? You’re the next McCourt, the next Alpha.”

“So ye think no one knows where he’s been, or what he’s been trying to do? Outside the assassins he sent?”

“Exactly. He sent them all the way to Chicago to track you down. To kill you a long way from home, so no one would know you were dead. He only sent three guys. And he came looking for you here. If he had everyone rallied, ready to fight, he’d have just sat back and waited for you to show up here. There’d be a fight, you’d be outnumbered, and he’d have what he wanted. It would have been a blood bath.”

“So you think we can just walk in through the front door then?”

“No. But I don’t think you’re going to have to fight your way through a pack of wolves to get to Malcolm.”

Callum sat back. What Aspyn said made sense. He’d been reacting to everything that had happened, anticipating the worst, that Malcolm had the Clan against him. Aspyn had taken the time to be logical, to put herself in Malcolm’s place. Malcolm didn’t need to pit the Clan against him, if the Clan didn’t know he existed.

“Aspyn, you’re brilliant.” He reached out, pulled her against him, hugging her hard. She struggled for a moment, then pushed herself away.

“Maybe so. But don’t get ahead of the game. We still have to get in there, and find him.”

“Spoke like a true warrior.” He grinned at her and caught the hint of a smile she gave back.

They made their way to the door. Callum boosted Aspyn up and she managed to pull the door open, pulling herself over the edge of the wooden frame. Callum reached up, grabbed the edge and pulled himself onto the rotting wooden floor.

“No one’s been down here for a long, long time.” Callum looked around. A small window set high in the wall let in a shaft of moonlight. The room was full of broken boxes, rotting machinery and the smell of mice and mold.

“I wish we had a flashlight.”

“Aye. I’m sure the castle has electric lights further on. But I can see well enough in the dark. Just stay behind me, with your hand on my back. I’ll find a way out.”

They walked through the dark hallways, the muffled sound of the river accompanying them. Aspyn’s hand clutched a handful of Callum’s shirt and he could feel the tentative nature of her steps behind him. He tried to put himself in her place and thought she must be terrified, walking blind through a castle filled with shifters. For the hundredth time he wished she could be anywhere but here.

“Hey. I see something.” The pressure of Aspyn’s hand disappeared from his back. He turned, reaching for her, but she was walking toward a door. Beneath was a sliver of yellow light.

“Wait.” He pushed ahead of her, pulling open the door. As he thought, electric lights dotted the hallway, some inside iron scones, some hanging from the ceiling, the wires running along the stone walls.

“Let’s head this way.” He pulled her down the hall.

They went up several narrow flights of stairs, stopping at each arched opening, listening intently. The castle was eerily quiet, almost too quiet.

“How are we going to find him?” Aspyn was right beside him, pressed against his side.

“I should be able to catch his scent, if we can get to an open area. Come on.” He pulled her into a wider hallway. The walls were of nicely fitted stone, hung here and there with tapestries. They’d found the inhabited part of the castle.

They followed the hall as it curved around in a gentle circle. “We’re going around the central tower. The main hall is in that tower. I’d be my life Malcolm’s down there.”

“And if ye did, you’d be dead.”

Callum spun around. Malcolm was standing behind them in the hall. Callum stepped in front of Aspyn, pushing her behind him.

“Then again, pup, ye’ll be dead anyway. I’ve no time to be dealing with children and fools.”

“Are ye planning to fight me alone then, Malcolm?” Callum took a step forward. He could feel Aspyn behind him, moving with him. He wanted to tell her to stay back, to run, but he couldn’t dare take his eyes off of Malcolm.

“I’m planning to kill ye, boy. There may be a fight, but the outcome will still be the same.”

Before Callum could react, Malcolm lunged at him, swinging hard. The blow caught Callum on the chin and he staggered back. Malcolm kept charging like a bull, but Callum ducked the next swing. The momentum carried Malcolm forward and Callum spun away, and Malcolm crashed into the wall.

But in doing so he put Aspyn directly in Malcolm’s path. The instant he realized he put her in danger, Callum made the decision to shift. He couldn’t fight Malcolm in human form and protect Aspyn at the same time.

He’d also have to trust Aspyn to take care of herself for the time it took to shift. She was already backing down the hall. Malcolm was on his feet, head turning between Aspyn and Callum. His eyes narrowed as he watched Callum begin to shift.

The power rose in Callum, stronger than anything he’d ever felt, as if he were pulling that power from the stone walls that surrounded him. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, threw back his head and roared. The pain that flashed through his body was intense, and for a blinding hot instant he was engulfed by it.

When he threw himself forward, it was as a wolf. He landed on all four paws. Malcolm was still standing against the wall, watching him, lips pulled back from his teeth.

Callum took a step toward Malcolm, hackles raised, fangs bared. He could see waves of anger rolling off the older man. And beneath that, Callum caught the faint scent of the man’s fear. It emboldened Callum and he growled, walking forward.

But before he could reach Malcolm, the man pushed away from the wall, reached out, grabbing Aspyn by the arm. He pulled her against him, wrapping his thick arms around her body, using her as a shield. Callum stopped, a low whine coming from him.

“Thought the girl might be important to ye. She’s a fighter, but she’s still a wee girl.”

Callum watched helplessly as Malcolm held Aspyn. It was at that moment Malcolm started to shift. His arms grew distended, his face contorting as his teeth grew, as his jaw pushed forward.

Aspyn’s eyes were fixed on Callum and he wanted more than anything to tell her…something, anything…that things would be fine. But he couldn’t, and he wasn’t sure right now they would be. He’d have sacrificed himself then and there to Malcolm, to make sure Aspyn was safe.

But Malcolm was going to have to let Aspyn go as he finished shifting. It would be Callum’s only chance to get between her and Malcolm. He waited, watching, trying to convey to Aspyn that there would be a moment where she could run.

Malcolm’s arms and legs were no longer human, and his legs buckled as the wolf in him took over. Aspyn’s eyes went wide and Callum took another step forward.

The next few seconds were confusion. Malcolm still held Aspyn in an awkward hug as he fell forward. She raised one arm to break her fall and as she did, Malcolm twisted his body, biting down hard on her arm.

Aspyn’s scream sent a wave of fury through Callum. He jumped, slamming into Malcolm’s body, pushing him away from Aspyn. For a brief instant, Callum heard the sound of tearing flesh as Malcolm’s teeth ripped at Aspyn’s arm. Her scream was in his ear as Callum shoved her away with his hindquarters, catching a brief glimpse of her scrambling away down the hall. The scent of her blood was in his head and it drove him mad.

Callum gained his feet, jumping away from Malcolm’s snapping jaws. Callum was blind with rage and hatred, for what this man had done to his father, and now to Aspyn. Without hesitation he dropped onto Malcolm’s body, sinking his teeth into whatever part of the wolf he could, tearing at its flesh, twisting and jerking.

Callum’s mouth filled with Malcolm’s blood and the moment he tasted it, he wanted more. He wanted to drink the man’s blood until there was none left.

Malcolm was struggling beneath him, claws scrabbling on the stone floor. But he couldn’t gain his feet and Callum pressed his advantage. He drove forward with his back legs, flipping Malcolm onto his back, biting down hard on Malcolm’s throat.

There was an explosion of blood in his mouth, slicing through the air, filling his eyes. He closed them against the warm spray. And he held on, bit down and refused to let go. He could feel Malcolm’s claws tearing at him, ripping the tender skin of his belly. But he held on.

“Callum…”

Aspyn’s voice was close, too close. She was in danger if Malcolm got away.

“Callum…stop. Let go. It’s over.”

Callum opened his eyes. Malcolm lay still beneath. He let go of the limp body and took a step back. He saw what he’d done, that he’d killed Malcolm.

“Come on. You need to do that thing…change yourself back. There are others here, I can hear them. You need to be able to explain…”

As her words finally reached him, he realized what she was saying. His Clan, the members of his pack. They were here and they’d find him here with Malcolm’s body. He sat back abruptly, the rage and fury draining away.

He closed his eyes, let himself go limp, let his body shift. When he opened his eyes again, Aspyn was there, smiling at him. She was holding her arm and when he saw the blood, it came back to him.

She’d been bitten.

But before he could even articulate the thoughts in his head, voices came to them from around the curve of the hall. Callum stood. Aspyn held out one of the tapestries from the wall and he frowned at her.

“You know, since you don’t have any clothes on.” She glanced down at him, then averted her eyes. He thought she was blushing and he fought back a grin.

“Aye, so I am. Thank ye.” He took the tapestry and wrapped it around his waist.

“We best go meet them and begin the explaining. I having a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

He took her hand and they stepped over Malcolm’s body, walking toward the voices.

* * *

Aspyn sat in the back of the hall, watching Callum, holding a towel against her injured arm. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound hurt like hell, more than hurt. There was a strange burning sensation she’d couldn’t really put her finger on, other than she was pretty sure this wasn’t how wounds were supposed to feel. Then again, she’d never been bitten by a werewolf before. And she’s sure as hell never treated a werewolf bite. She’d never studied this in nursing school. But she really didn’t care, as long as the bleeding diminished, and she and Callum were alive.

Callum had been talking to the Clan members gathered there for over an hour. They’d started out confused, angry, occasionally appearing on the verge of tearing him limb from limb.

But he’d been calm, he’d answered their questions. He was reassuring and commanding at the same time. Gradually they’d calmed down. By the time they’d filed out of the hall, their angry murmurs had settled into lowered tones of grudging acceptance.

Callum sank onto a wooden bench, rubbing his temples with his fingers. Aspyn walked the length of the hall, sitting down beside him.

“Tough crowd.”

He looked up her, and she got a weak smile. “Aye. They are. But they’ve been through a lot. Can’t blame them for being upset.”

“You handled them really well though. Like you’ve been doing this all your life. I’m impressed.”

“I’ll tell you the truth, Aspyn. I had a moment of doubt. Wasn’t sure I could pull this off.” He sat up, straightening his shoulders. “But it’s my place and my duty.”

“This is my home, even though I’ve not been here for most of my life. I’m needed here.” He looked around the hall. “It’s where I belong.”

“It’s a big change from being a gypsy. Do you think you can adjust to being in one place?”

“I have no choice. They need me. And I need them.” He shrugged. “It’s my destiny.”

Aspyn reached over and took Callum’s hand. His grip was firm, the fingers laced through hers warm. She leaned against his shoulder. I’m going to miss this when I’m gone.

He stood, pulling her to her feet. It was time to say good-bye, to get her few things from the inn and find a flight home. Tears prickled her eyelids but she willed herself not to cry. She wanted to go out like the warrior Callum believed she was. She wanted to leave with her head held high.

“You know, you learn more about someone at the end of a relationship than at the beginning. I’ve learned more about you in the last hour than I have in the last two days. You are meant to lead this Clan. This is your destiny.”

“Who says this is the end of our relationship?” Callum turned to face Aspyn. She took an involuntary step away from the intensity on his face, radiating from his entire body. “Who says I want this to end?”

“But…you’re an Alpha in Scotland. I’m a nurse from Chicago. You hate to fly…” She tried to offer him a half-hearted smile but failed. “Long-distance relationships don’t work.”

“But nothing.” He closed the distance between them with one long stride. “Do ye really want to go back to Chicago?” He gripped her arms, fingers digging into her flesh, practically lifting her up on her toes.

“What’s there for ye, Aspyn? Running from a stalker, living in an apartment that looks like a hotel room? Hiding yourself? Is that what ye want?”

He was staring down at her, dark eyes snapping with passion. And anger.

“Not until you listen to reason…until ye listen to me. I love ye, Aspyn. I’d move heaven and earth for ye, protect ye from everything bad in this world. I’d give ye a chance at a life…a chance to live your life. Here, with me.”

He was offering her everything she ever desired: the freedom to be who she wanted, and the love and security she needed.

“It is what I want.” She sniffled. He let go of her and she took a step back, angrily wiping away her tears. Then she stopped abruptly, staring at him. Wait. He said…

“You said you love me?” The tears were forgotten.

In his eyes she saw her answer. Callum reached out, this time with exquisite gentleness. He pulled her against him, hands sliding around to her back, circling her with his strength. She raised her hands to his chest. The beating of his heart was like the ticking of a clock, strong, sure, steady. On the other hand, her heart was fluttering in her chest like a caged bird.

“I love ye, Aspyn. I should have said it sooner, much sooner. But I’ll say it every day, every hour, if it means ye’ll stay.”

One lone tear spilled down her cheek. “You know it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to tell a man I love him.”

Her words seemed to have no effect on him. If anything the intensity in his eyes deepened.

“Right now, I don’t need words from ye, Aspyn. I just need ye, more than I’ve ever needed anything…or anyone. And I need ye to trust me. When you’re ready, the words will be there. But for now…” He drew her closer. “For now, just having ye here is enough for me.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer and then bent his head to kiss her. There was that briefest of hesitations, the slightly raised eyebrow as he watched her. Once she’d thought it was cocky and arrogant, his way of maintaining control until it was his idea.

But now it was familiar gesture and she smiled. He lowered his head the rest of the way, his lips touching hers, brushing softly at first, then with more pressure.

The kiss deepened and Aspyn wrapped her arms around Callum. He was warm and solid, a seemingly immovable rock. The swirling emotions inside her were suddenly quiet, as still as the loch she’d could see from the castle window. It was the first time she didn’t have an exit plan, a place to run to. Or something to run from. Maybe it was time to stop running.

She broke the kiss and pulled away. He looked down at her, brows drawn together slightly, the unspoken question in his eyes clear.

“I guess Scotland’s not such a bad place.”

His laugh was rich and deep. “Aye. Many fine people have enjoyed living here for many generations.” He set one finger beneath her chin. “Is that your backwards way of saying you’ll stay?”

She looked up at him, into his dark eyes. The love she saw there took her breath away. Reflected there she saw mountain lochs in misty sunlight, gray stone castles bathed in moonlight.

And she saw the chance to get to know someone who’d fight for her, who’d lay down his life for her safety. She saw hope.

“It’s my way of saying I’ll stay.”

* * *

Callum had taken Aspyn out on walks along the river, following the sinuous curves through the green fields and the small copse at the bottom of the valley.

“This should be good for fly fishing, if ye have an interest in that sort of thing.”

They were lying on a blanket beneath the trees, the sunlight making dappled patterns on Aspyn’s skin. They’d taken a picnic lunch along but it had been forgotten. As soon as the blanket had been spread on the grass, they’d lost interest in anything other than each other.

Callum lay back, eyes closed, the breeze cooling is heated skin. He could feel Aspyn’s warmth next to him, and he caught the delicious scent of their lovemaking, and the deep, rich of scent of the woman herself. Her scent alone was enough to drive him to want her, no matter where they were. He’d found himself aching for her while they’d been in Inverness, at moments in the castle when he was supposed to be looking after the Clan. It was all he could do to focus, knowing she was there, would always be there. And that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Aspyn rolled toward him, resting her arm on his chest. He reached up to stroke her skin, his fingers running along her arm. They ran across the raised scar on her forearm, the place where Malcolm had bitten her. He knew it was an angry red mark, but she’d assured him in was healing properly.

Callum frowned. It was the bite that caused the scar that bothered him, the only thing that cast a shadow on his days. It was the only secret he had from her, the only thing he’d never talked about to her. And it was breaking his heart.

She’d been bitten by a werewolf. By rights, she should be a shifter. But she’d not said she felt the call to change, or that she felt any different than the day she’d arrived. He’d tried more than once to put the thought out of his mind, to let the fact that she was perfectly fine calm him. Maybe she wasn’t changing because Malcolm hadn’t been completely shifted when he’d bit her. Or maybe there was some other reason she hadn’t changed.

He wanted to tell her his fears, but it wasn’t fear he felt, at least not all the time. It was guilt. Because deep inside, to have Aspyn be a shifter like him, to have some claim on immortality, endless health, to understand exactly what it was like to be him…he thought about it, played with the idea. And he found he liked the idea.

But then he’d see her, ask her if she was happy, and she say she was. It wasn’t exactly that he questioned her happiness, but he had some notion if she wasn’t happy, it was due to Malcolm’s bite.

Then he’d try to put the whole thing out of his mind. Be in the end, he couldn’t let go of the thought that someday, at some time, she might become like him. She would be a shifter. And his life would be complete.

* * *

They’d been at the castle almost a month. The Clan had given them a large suite of rooms, and they’d gone to Inverness for a much needed trip to buy clothes. Aspyn had been happy to discover that the castle had running water and their rooms had a bathroom, complete with a large tub and shower.

“I told you the castle wasn’t still in the dark ages. We’re living in the present here, ye know. Not in the past.”

Callum was lying in the bed, watching Aspyn as she came from the bathroom. She’d taken a bath and her hair hung in damp tendrils down her back. She walked naked across the room, then climbed into be beside him.

“I didn’t say you were living in the past. I’m just surprised. Very pleasantly surprised.” She curled against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“And you’re happy here?” He ran his hand over her shoulder, winding a damp strand of hair around his finger.

“I’m just as happy as the last time you asked me.” She raised her head, smiling up at him. “I’m not going anywhere. I told you, I’m staying.”

He leaned down, kissing her gently. “Aye, so you’ve said.”

The full moon was rising outside the window, casting a pale swath of light across the bed. Aspyn sat up, leaning down to kiss him. Her lips tasted like honey and wine, and as usual, her scent aroused him. Before she’d even shifted her body over his, he was hard, aching to be inside her.

He swept the sheet away from his body as she straddled his hips. Her smile said everything, that she knew how he felt, what she did to him. And that he did the same to her.

Wordlessly she guided him into her, lowering her body until he was sheathed inside her molten center. Their bodies began the dance they’d done countless times, but that was new and different each time they came together.

His hands rose to her breasts but that wasn’t enough. He sat up, pulling her against him as he bent his head, his lips brushing across her skin, the softest skin he’d ever known. Within seconds he had her nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking, pulling at her with his lips and tongue.

Aspyn moaned and he sucked harder. He felt her contract around his cock, felt the first heated trembling of her body. He slid one hand down, cupping her ass, flexing his hips as he drove himself into her.

Then she was coming, her body contracting around him, pulling him further into her heat, drawing him with her. He broke away from her breast with a harsh cry, his body jerking, hips thrusting hard.

He clutched her to him, head resting on her breasts, as he spent himself, as her shuddering and trembling slowly subsided. They stayed locked together, rocking slowly back and forth, until they slid down onto the bed.

“It’s like a summer storm.” Her voice was soft and dreamy. He was on the edge of sleep and he rolled toward her, arm wrapped around her waist.

“What is?”

“Us…this. Sometimes it’s like thunderstorms we’d get back home. All crashing thunder and wind, over in a heartbeat, everything washed clean, ready to start again. Sometimes we’re like that between us, all sudden and intense and amazing.”

He tried to follow her words, but he’d hit that place after love where he was awake but not awake.

“Aye. Sometimes it’s like that.” He pulled her close, enveloped in her warmth. He’d be ready soon, ready to give her something more than a brief summer storm. For now he wanted to enjoy this heady state he’d been left in, with her close by his side. But there was one more thing before he drifted off.

“I love ye, Aspyn. Storms or no, I do love ye.” He sighed, ready for sleep to overtake him.

“I love you, too, Callum. Storms or no.”

He was pulled back from sleep by her words. “So you can say ye love me after all?”

“I can. In my own good time. And this is the right time.”

“Say it again.”

He heard her sigh, but he could tell she was smiling. “Fine. I love you, Callum McCourt.”

“Aye, I knew you’d come to your senses in good time. I have that effect on ye, don’t I?”

She swatted at him, laughing. He caught her hand, and she let him hold it against his chest. “You’re a cocky bastard, you know that?”

“Aye. I’ve had it on good authority that I am.” He kissed her hand. “And I’m thinking ye wouldn’t want me any other way, would ye?”

“Not on your life, shifter. Not on your life.”

Roots & Fangs

Skye Eagleday and Ripley Sage

Copyright 2014 Skye Eagleday and Ripley Sage

Chapter One

“Yep, I’m doing it,” McKay said as he put his passport back into his pocket. “I fly into Chicago and then it’s straight on—you know I really mean gaily forward—to Edinburgh.”

“You’ve sure been talking about it long enough. Ever since we met as high school freshmen both you and your grandfather talked about going to Scotland as if it were your destiny,” his friend Karl sighed. “Well, good on you for making your dream come true. I’m just wondering if the whole country is as hunky as you are or if they sent all the really good looking ones out here to the colonies.”

“I don’t know if the United States was ever considered a colony of just Scotland. I skimmed through some history until I got bored. I got confused over the King of England also being the King of Scotland. I know that’s how Charleston came to be in South Carolina, but I don’t know if that really qualified it as a colony of Scotland by itself because it was originally Charles’ Town and named for King Charles. ”

“Yeah,” replied Karl. “I’m still not exactly sure how the United Kingdom works and I’m from Canada. It’s the 21st Century and you’re required to pledge allegiance to the Queen. Imagine my surprise when we moved to the States and I was told I was now supposed to pledge allegiance to a piece of cloth with a questionable design. But as a Canadian, I also won’t try to understand American history. However I know for sure the province of Nova Scotia was an official colony of Scotland.”

“And this is why I got bored trying to sort through the history. My eyes just glazed over.” He let an older flight attendant in a hurry rush past him.

“Then let’s go back to something more interesting, meaning you. I was curious if the pretty factor in Scotland was high or if you’re a fluke.” He heard Karl’s cat in the background. This happened every time they talked and McKay wondered if using the phone got the cat’s attention the way opening a can of anything did. “Maybe your grandfather was exiled for being too devilishly handsome. Based on the gif you emailed me of him in a kilt on the cover of a magazine when he was your age, I’m willing to believe that.”

“I suspect the Pretty Gene for Scots is just as random as it is for most places. However, speaking as a proud ginger I am pleased to report Scotland has the highest percentage of redheads in the world.”

“Funny--I would have guessed Ireland.”

“Ireland came in second.” He paused in front of the Departure display screen to reassure himself his flight was still on time. “But I can see where you might make that mistake.”

“What do I know? I’m Ukrainian where we’re all Ice Queen blonde. The only one in my family who’s a redhead was Aunt Sophie and we all thought it was Lady Clairol and not genetics. Look I gotta go—my mom’s just pulled up in the driveway. I wasn’t expecting her for another hour. Promise to check in with me regularly. Everything worked out fine with my cousin taking over your place here so that’s one thing you won’t have to worry about.”

“Always good to hear. I’m also renting out my Granddad’s condo, which will relieve me having to pay the mortgage for the next six months. I gave them the option of renewing the lease if I decide to extend my stay in Scotland but this also gives me the option of relocating where I choose to go to grad school. Listen—I’ll let you go. Say hello to your mom for me and I’ll call you next week when I have a better idea of where I’ll be.” He stopped in front of his gate and found an empty seat. As he was putting his phone away into his bag he lovingly touched the leather cover of the journal he had found in his grandfather’s things.

He had never associated his grandfather as the type who would keep a diary. Still, it had taught him a lot about things Logan McKay must have considered important. Unfortunately there were whole sections of things written in words he didn’t recognize. Google Translation had whimped out on him. The journal was just a little smaller than the new tourist guide that was also in the bag and he stacked one on top of the other.

He reached in and held the small stone in its tanned deerskin bag. It was the last thing his grandfather had given him before he died. He had had trouble speaking and McKay only knew his last words were to return the stone to where it belonged. But then Logan died without providing him any directions and he had found nothing in the journal that was actually helpful. He hoped by discovering Logan’s home that would serve as the place the stone should be brought back. For all he knew, even stepping on Scottish soil might be enough but in McKay’s experience things were seldom so simple.

He had shown the stone to Mahihkan Macdonald, the Metis artist he had met when he had returned to deal with Logan’s estate. As an artist, Mahihkan specialized in using stones for ceremony. He was also a Loup-Garou, a Canadian version of a Werewolf. But even Mahihkan was stumped.

“I’m sorry—I’ve just never seen anything like it. I can tell you something about the triskele design carved on the surface—its three spirals differ in interpretations depending on history and place. It can mean creation-preservation-destruction, spirit-mind-body, life-death-rebirth, or even mother-father-child.  I can see it’s an ancient piece. I know stone carving but this technique is unique. The only other thing I can tell you is I’m not sensing anything magical or spiritual about it. Something treated with such care and something this old should have absorbed something. But it just feels like a rock picked up randomly. That makes even less sense to me, but I can only tell you what I know.”  He returned the stone to McKay who put it back into its pouch. He hadn’t taken it out again.

Now that he’d face no further security checks, he placed the small pouch back around his neck the way he had seen his Grandfather wear it from the first day his Grandfather had brought him back from the foster home. McKay was zipping up his bag when he heard a woman yell, “It’s you!”

He looked up to see the brown eyes of a middle-aged woman magnified by her coke bottle bottom glasses. “Pardon?”

“I see you every time I brush my teeth. You’re the one that launched the Mint-Honey flavor for Wiseman’s Organic Toothpaste. You’re even on the tube! I’ve used Wiseman’s ever since Whole Foods started carrying the products. “Ha—my husband calls it Whole Paycheck. Are you a Wiseman?”

He froze for a moment. She had spoken so quickly he was still trying to process what she was saying. He realized she had finished with a question. “McKay—my name is McKay but I will always be grateful to the Wiseman family. Their campaign paid for the tuition of my last year in college. Although just between you and me, my favorite flavor is Cinnamon but Honey-Mint is a close second.”

“Over here, Jonathan!” she yelled, turning away from McKay and waving to a gray-haired man. “Look who it is! It’s McKay—he’s the boy on the toothpaste tube!” Jonathan looked both confused but accepting.

“It’s a really good tasting toothpaste,” he said politely. He led her away while she kept talking non-stop.

McKay’s flight into Chicago was uneventful. He spent most of it reviewing his guidebook. He wondered if people in Scotland buying a guidebook to America would find the culture as complicated as he found theirs.  He had a layover he used to charge his phone, then got ready to board. He was pleased to see the flight wasn’t very full. He held out his boarding pass for a strikingly handsome flight attendant looking sharp in the airline’s dark uniform. The other man’s hair wasn’t as vivid a red as McKay’s and he had a short beard and mustache that were the color of bright copper. “Welcome aboard, Mr. McKay. Might you be going home?”

“In a way. I was born in the States but I’m trying to find the route my grandfather took when he left the Old Country.” McKay’s gaydar had clicked on with first eye contact. A gay flight attendant. Who knew?  McKay had the whole row to himself.  But as he was putting his bag away the hunky flight attendant had walked behind him.

“Mr. McKay,” he said softly, “There was a problem with your seating arrangement. Could you bring your bag and come with me?”

McKay was puzzled—as a professional model he was used to regular air travel, both national and international. He didn’t see how there could have been an error. At least not on his end.

He followed the well-shaped buns of the man in front of him. They roundly filled out the navy blue seat of his pants. He was so focused on them he didn’t realize he was now in the business class section.  “There you go, Mr. McKay. Your new seat is 1A, and here’s your new boarding pass.” He put the pass into McKay’s hand, letting his own hand remain a couple of heartbeats touching it.

“OK,” thought McKay, “He’s not a subtle guy.” Aloud he said, “What have I done to deserve the upgrade?”

“Consider it a random act of kindness from your fairy godmother.” He smiled and there was a powerful sense of interest existing on many levels.

“Fairy?” Given the fact he had spent the summer with a Canadian Loup-Garou lover who had ended up reluctantly introducing him to the Supernatural community, now even small clues reminded him magic was always around you, just waiting out of the corner of your eye. He knew fairies existed. He had just never met one before.

“Well, just your regular rainbow kind of fairy. About the only wishes I can grant involve an upgrade or a free drink. My name is Jordon and I’m the Purser which makes me head bitch of anything outside of the cockpit.  It’s a light load tonight, so I’ll have a lot of time on my hands. We can have a chance to get to know each other better. So sit back and relax and let me know if you’d prefer a glass of champagne to start with or do you want to go straight to the whisky?” His order placed, McKay sat down and watched a few more people trickle into the seats around him.

Jordon smiled at him as he did the obligatory Safety Speech. “Ladies and Gentlemen—boys and girls. Just in case none of you have been in an automobile since the 1960s, I am required by law to share with you the following information. Here’s a safety belt,” he said, clicking it in a showy manner. “I need for it to fit low and tight about your hips just like the black leather jockstrap I’ll be wearing later on tonight after we land in Edinburgh.” McKay laughed as did a lot passengers back in economy.

Jordon replaced his model safety belt with a bright yellow air mask. “For parents traveling with children---hmmm, why? If you as a parent are traveling with two of your children, for Goodness’ sake--what were you thinking? Just remember in the unlikely event these snappy yellow masks come down, you should consider strapping the mask on the smart one — the one who will pump the most money into your own retirement fund.  And if you don’t like my jokes, you have six ways available to walk out,” he grinned, pointing out the exit signs.

Later on Jordon asked quietly, “How was the steak?”  The flight attendant topped off McKay’s wineglass. Some of the other passengers had passed on dinner and turned off their lights right after takeoff. A heavyset man three seats over was lightly snoring.

“Very tasty.” He held up his glass in a toast. He was at that enjoyable stage of knowing he was a little buzzed but still in comfortable control.

In a few minutes Jordan passed by to collect the rest of McKay’s dishes and tray. “Make sure you leave room for dessert. It’s a long flight. I’ll be back in two shakes.” True to his word he returned and perched on the arm of the empty seat across from McKay.

“So, did you always want to fly the friendly skies?” McKay felt full and warm. He swirled the dark wine around in his glass, enjoying how the overhead light made it sparkle.

“Aye.” He crossed his arms. “Things are much better now, but I was one of those boys where everybody was aware I was a little light in the loafers. I never formally came out because everyone always knew. But it was a wee community and from the time I knew there was an outside world I knew I needed something bigger.” He held open his arms. “And when I became an adult this airline opened the world to me and I never looked back.”

He leaned forward. “A world of international travel offers a lot for a gay man. So many opportunities.”

McKay smiled. “I’m sure you have many stories.”

“Now, am I that obvious?”

“A guy with your looks? Yeah, I’d say you’ve always had many opportunities.”

“Well, mony a mickle maks a muckle,” Jordan said to himself.

“Pardon?” McKay looked surprised.

Jordon crossed his arms and pointed his chin at the restroom that was directly in front of McKay. McKay looked confused. “Surely,” the Purser growled, “you’ve heard of the Mile High Club?”

McKay froze. He had been curious if the upgrade had come with a price and he guessed it had. He tried not to overreact. Jordan was funny and a great looking man and it would be helpful to know someone actually from Scotland. But the idea of even a hottie like Jordan smashed beside him inside an airplane restroom pushed him past his edge. He was a romantic and had never had sex with someone he didn’t connect with emotionally. Maybe after more time together with Jordan they’d have that. But they didn’t have it now.

“That’s quite an offer. If I were to ever join the Mile High Club, I’m sure you’re one of the best people who could open my door. But it’s a bit much for me—even after you bought me a drink.” He held his nearly empty wine glass up once more as a toast.

“It was worth a shot,” Jordan smiled. “Close to half of the time the guy says yes.” The older man waggled his copper eyebrows at McKay, who responded by laughing.

“But let’s keep in touch.” Jordan went into the preparation area and returned a moment later. “Here’s my business card. When you settle into Edinburgh you have to check out a gay bar called the Pink Thistle. It’s around the top of Leith walk, just off Princes Street. My family owns it.” He passed his card over. On the back he had written “good for one free drink” and drawn a heart. “Just show that to whoever is on duty. That way I’ll know I’ve really bought you a drink. As head bitch outside of the cockpit, all the wee bottles of booze are mine to distribute as I please. It’s not as if I’m paying for your drink or your dinner tonight.” He laughed, “So I guess it’s only fair we don’t have sex this evening.” He stood up and added, “But tomorrow’s another day.

He stepped into the prep area and returned with a dish of ice cream topped with hot chocolate fudge. “I’ve already made plans for the next few days but give me your number and I’ll text you to let you know when I’m back to Edinburgh. Will you be around for at least a few weeks?”

“At a minimum. I left my ticket open on the return so I wouldn’t be tied to a schedule.”

“Then I hope we can meet when we’re both in the same place again.” Jordan returned to his tasks, efficiently picking up the few dishes and glasses left. McKay looked out the window into the darkness. He decided to grab a little sleep and pulled down the window shade so the rising sun wouldn’t wake him.

Chapter Two

Rory had great admiration for beautiful things and the latest to capture his attention was a set of loose diamonds that was about to be delivered to their new owner. He had had a great deal of fun with the options computers offered him. It was easy enough for him to hack into the jewelry store’s system. His kind were always good with their hands. In the old days it would have been using the stones to create jewelry of his own, but these days his skills included digital reality.

He had been working on this for weeks now and had flown in last night from Dublin to intercept the order. Maintaining his preferred lifestyle in the current century took money. The diamonds would help. He knew he could make even more in the stock market and hedge funds, but being a jewelry thief in his spare time appealed to his basic nature. All Pookas were tricksy.

He was calm. He had made switches like this countless times over the last two centuries. Rory looked at himself in the mirror and saw Vincent Campbell looking back. He straightened his tie and walked out of the men’s room and into the lift.  With an air of confidence he stepped out on the first floor and saw the man he was anticipating walk in with his official briefcase.

“Mr. Campbell,” the courier said, “I was just on my way to your office.” He was frowning, an indication to Rory he needed to make this quick.

“And I was just on my way out and thought I’d save us both some time. We all know that time is money. Now, where do I sign?”

“I need your thumb print,” he said, pulling out a small tablet, barely larger than a phone. He flicked it on and held it out to Rory. Confident, the Pooka pressed his thumb firmly on the screen which flashed green twice to certify his identity.

“Garbage in, garbage out,” he thought as he took possession of the briefcase containing the stones. “—the consistent weakness of computers. All you need is the password or in this case, the right thumbprint.” He nodded to the courier and walked quickly through the double doors to reach the outside. He figured he would have no more than five minutes—ten at the outside—before the real Vincent Campbell started snooping around.

He glanced up at the CCTV security cameras that he hated so much. They were just one more hassle of the modern world. He walked two doors down and into the Waldorf. As he went through the door he shifted his facial features and became three inches taller. He went directly to the room he had checked into the night before. He removed the diamonds and placed their container into a dark gray suede purse. He calmly placed the empty briefcase into the closet, then shed the clothing he had been wearing.

He entered the bathroom nude and looked into the mirror, deliberately slowing down his shifting—he enjoyed watching the change. He took on a more familiar and comfortable female form, pleased to be rid of Campbell. He called himself Maeve. Her hair was now long and black. Her eyes were an icy blue. She put on the charcoal colored dress she had in the closet and the shoes that matched the purse. She called the front desk and ordered a taxi to the airport. As long as Rory was in Scotland he had decided to take a holiday for himself.  Maeve stuffed the male clothing she had worn for the heist into a bag along with the briefcase. She’d dispose of them on her way to the airport.

Being away for a few months might let Fiona cool down. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms but he was certain when they next met he’d charm her the way he always did. Besides, he was a Pooka and never felt comfortable in one place for too long. It had been a couple of generations since he had been in the Highlands.

Being practically immortal he knew only too well the danger of getting too comfortable in the same body and the same time. It made one brittle—robbed one of flexibility. It was why he kept enrolling in college every few years. He wanted to keep up to date in human reality. He had watched too many of his fellow Sidhe go crazy when they became trapped in their own past and couldn’t make the transition into modern times.

More than a century ago he had met a Native American vampire in London. They had made love and in their time together discussed how similar their experiences were—which included being untouched by time while watching the humans they cared about age and die. But they both agreed on the importance of staying current. It was all about keeping one’s spirit flexible.

“Ah, my sweet Ash,” he whispered. “I hope you’re still out there somewhere. The world would be a wee bit sadder without you.” Maeve went downstairs to catch her taxi. She had a reservation on the late morning flight to Inverness. She’d start there and then change cities and bodies a few more times to keep building up layers between herself and Vincent Campbell. In another ten years—maybe twenty, she would cash in Campbell’s diamonds. She had all the time she needed. Every now and then she’d steal something valuable and put it aside until the theft was no longer a priority. She had hidey-holes on four continents where she kept what she thought of as her retirement fund. When you had a lifespan of centuries, you needed a very large nest egg.

She loved flying since planes took her higher than she could fly on her own when she took the shape of a bird. Scotland was beautiful from the air. Almost as striking as her beloved Ireland. It was a short flight and she was met by a driver from the Rocpool where she had made a reservation. Breezing along she realized she had missed lunch—so much for detailed plans. She went into the hotel’s bar to see what she might scare up. She was now traveling light with just her purse. Later on she would go shopping for new clothes. She’d also need to buy a suitcase.

She had nodded to the bartender as she walked into the bar and set her purse on the counter, feeling relaxed and hungry. The container in the purse rolled slightly in the soft suede and it tipped over onto the carpet. Before she could reach for it a man grabbed it and handed the purse back to her.

“And aren’t you a lovely lass,” he said. He was tall and lean. His hair was a dark auburn and his eyes light green. “My name is Niall. And you might be?”

“Maeve,” she smiled. He looked like a very handsome man. But she could smell that he was really one of the Daoine Sith—her Scottish fairy cousins. They were such EEgits—too thick to realize she was one of their own. She remembered one of the first questions Ash asked was about her—well, Rory’s supernatural origin. Vampires could sniff a Pooka out, just as she could sniff out Niall.

Well, what fun it would be to trick one of the Fair Folk. That would rack up more personal points than tricking humans.

“What can I order for you?” Niall asked, taking the seat beside her.

“A good scotch whisky, of course,” she grinned.

“Aye, life’s too short to be drinking bad whisky.” He placed an order with the bartender and then gave his full attention back to the Pooka. “So, how long will you be in town?”

“I’m not tied to time,” she touched her glass to his, “it’s a vacation for me and many years since I was back in the Highlands. I plan to take things slow and enjoy myself.”

“Have you family here?” He put the glass down and held her eyes with his. She could feel him trying to use his glamour on her. She smiled as she let it rush over her body, leaving her untouched.

“I’m the trickster,” she thought. “Not you.” Aloud she replied, “Not in Scotland, no. Irish through and through. How about you?” She consciously enlarged her pupils to look more interested. Niall didn’t need his magic to seduce her. Pookas were always up for some fun.

“My family has deep roots in the Highlands and I’m in town to conduct a wee bit of business. Perhaps you’d do me the honor of having dinner with me this fine evening?”

“I don’t know what it is about you, but how could I refuse an offer of your company? In fact,” she put down her empty glass, “why don’t we go upstairs to my room and continue our conversation there?” She smiled to herself at how easy it was to manipulate a male Sith. It was a relief to skip all the courting and drag him into bed. Other than Fiona, it had been years since she had slept with anyone Supernatural.

She didn’t wait for him to respond, but picked up her purse and started off towards the lobby, confident he would be right behind her after he paid for the bill. A few minutes later they were in the penthouse suite and she dialed room service to send up a bottle of single malt.

She had just kissed him when there was a knock at the door to announce the arrival of the whisky. She signed for it and turned her attention back to Niall. “I’ve only had a single drink but here I am with you, you brilliant man. What power do you have over a poor bitta fluff like me?”

“My only power is appreciating the fine lass before me.” He gestured to the bottle. “Let me take care of that. You don't worry about a thing—Niall's here to pamper you now.”

Maeve perched on the edge of the bed, watching the Sith remove his jacket and flex his fine muscles in show, all to unscrew the one little cap. He poured the whiskey into a glass and handed it to her. He climbed behind her and touched her shoulders while she sipped.

“You've been traveling,” he said. “The flight's hard—you can't begin a good vacation so tense. Let me work that for you.”

“Mmm,” the Pooka responded, feeling his strong fingers brush the back of her neck and rub gentle circles. “I'm melting,” she said. “You have the magic touch.”

“I haven't even begun.” His hands worked their way down her shoulders to squeeze her upper arms. She felt the scratch of a new beard on her throat, followed by a soft kiss, a nip. She sighed. He pulled her back and kissed her again. His wandering hands found the clasps to her dress. She started to remove it, but Niall stopped her. “I'll take care of everything. You just need to relax.”

He worked the soft gray fabric over her body, brushing his thumbs over the swell of her breasts and taking a moment to squeeze her nipples. They swelled up and hardened in response, as if trying to reach back to him. A moment later the dress was entirely gone, with the Sith kneeling before her. He paused in awe of the sight.

“I never liked underwear,” Maeve said. “Too confining.”

Niall grinned. “Your good sense is my blessing.” There was a significant bulge in his pants. He might not have been bright enough to realize she was Sidhe, but he clearly had other endowments. It looked like his cock might rips through the seams and come get her.

His hands worked up her thighs, squeezing the sensitive flesh. His mouth followed, planting little kisses on her knees and up the inside of her thighs. Each touch sent a little jolt of need through her body. She could feel herself open up. She wanted him now, but he made her wait, each little kiss an exquisite torment.

He paused on reaching her outer lips. She was so sensitive and ready that just the warmth of his breath drove her a little out of her mind. She reached down and grabbed hold of his head, pushing it down to the target.

Niall ate her like a starving man. He flicked his tongue back and forth over her clit, fast enough to compete with any vibrator. She felt the first spasms rush through her right away. Maeve jolted and bucked forward.  “Oh no,” Niall said. “We've only just started.” He pushed her back down, both hands pinning her hips to the bed, while his mouth went back to its business.

Maeve came more than once while he pinned her there. She couldn't help herself—it was almost frustrating to be caught up in so much pleasure. She promised herself to get back at him, between waves. She smiled wickedly as she planned to trap him in his pleasure.

They were both breathing hard by the time Niall let her up. He wiped her juice from his face, and licked the hand he had wiped with. “Delicious.” He kissed her full on the mouth.

Now it was Maeve's turn to pull off his shirt and unbutton his pants. Niall's cock popped out, hard and insistent. Apparently she wasn't the only Supernatural opposed to undergarments. When he was fully naked she leaned back and took the sights in.

Niall was a beauty. He was lean and lanky, narrow-waisted man, but fit—and big—in all the right places. His shaft pointed up at her, clear in what it wanted. Maeve was sitting on the edge of the bed while Niall stood before her. He took a step forward, so his quivering glistening tip brushed the lips of her vulva. He pressed in, ever so gently, prodding.

Maeve grabbed hold of his cock and squeezed very slightly. He gasped. She guided him in. She was so open and wet it was easy. He slid the whole of himself inside her. Soon they were both on the bed, Niall ecstatically thrusting.

He tried to keep her in missionary, but Maeve had other ideas. Before the Sith knew what had happened, she had flipped him onto his back and was riding him like a demon. Now it was Niall's turn to buck and moan and lose control of his body. Oh, he felt good inside, but she could make him feel better. She squeezed herself tight around him and bucked. He was trying with all of his might not to come, to stay in. Maeve smiled her cruelest smile and reached around to his backside. “Oh!” was all the man said, as she pressed into his rosebud. She only had time to get one finger in, before he shuddered and came inside her.

The pair collapsed on the bed.

“What a wild one you are,” he sighed. She traced the light colored hair on his forearm in a teasing way.

“Oh, you’ve no idea, you really don’t,” she replied. She held his eyes for a moment and then smiled. She shifted into her wolf form and found delight in his surprise.  Then she became Rory again. Then a raven. In each case he kept his dark coloring.

“So you be Sidhe?” He marveled.

The raven became Maeve again. “Aye. You’re in the presence of a Pooka.”

“Um,” he cleared his throat, “could you go back to your man form?”

In an eye blink Rory was looking at him. “So this is the one you prefer?” He grinned in his wicked way.

“I’d be feeding you lies if I denied the fact I fancy men. Especially one as fine as you. And this is no glamour you be doing, right? My Granny used to tell me Pookas have no glamour.”

“It’s because we don’t need it. Whatever appearance I wear will not vanish in the light of dawn the way your type of glamour can, where you pay for something in gold and the next day it’s turned to fallen leaves. Give me shape-shifting any time.”

“And your name? I can’t be calling you Maeve when you look like this.” He brushed his companion’s stubbled face with his large hand in a gentle manner.

“Rory,” he said gruffly. As aggressive as a male as he was a female he pushed Niall back and was suddenly on top of him. While larger than he was as Maeve, he was still smaller than the Sith. He was stronger though and pinned his partner with a laugh.

Niall laughed as well, but Rory felt him harden again. Niall's cock was up and pressed against Rory's own.   “You like that.” he said—and it was not a question. Niall sighed. “Ready for more, are you?”

The Sith nodded. Rory shifted his weight forward so he was really pinning Niall. The other man struggled a bit, just to test it, but Rory had him stuck to the covers. Now they were both hard. The Pooka lowered his hips so their cocks pressed into each other. It felt good, the length of him rubbed up on another man. Niall thrust up to meet him. They started their own little metaphorical fire with the friction.

“Oh,” Niall said. “Oh, oh oh—I want you in me.”

The Pooka laughed. “I suppose it's only fair I return the favor.”

Niall spread his legs and lifted them up so Rory had a clear view of his nice round bum and his rosebud. Little hairs curled into his crack—they were road signs. Everything on the Sith said 'Enter Here' and Rory was obliged to comply. He let the weight of his cock drag down over Niall's shaft, over and around his balls, around his ass, and right up to the hole.

Rory pressed the tip into the hole and teased the entrance. He made little circles and watched Niall shiver in response. Very slowly, he pushed himself in. The Sith moaned, Rory sighed. Yes, it felt good. Niall was tight and welcoming. He rocked back and forth into the other man. Niall grabbed hold of his own shaft and jerked himself off while it happened.

Rory enjoyed that, watching the Sith splayed out before him, pleasuring himself, being so pleased by Rory. He'd certainly enjoyed the finger in his arsehole before. It didn't take long for Niall to shudder and spray all over himself. Rory laughed and smeared Niall's cum all over his torso. It glistened. He pulled out, not wanting to hurt the Sith after he'd come, but still very much erect, very much wanting more.

Niall took in Rory's condition and kneeled once again before him. Niall sucked and licked the tender skin of Rory's ball sack before taking the whole thing in his mouth. He licked Rory from base to tip and back again. He massaged Rory's nuts while he made a seal around the head of his cock and bobbed his head up and down, up and down. The Sith knew what he was doing.

Rory responded, bucking ever so slightly into Niall's face and groaning his contentment. When Niall opened wide and swallowed his whole dick, Rory lost it. After so many orgasms, he had not control. He came inside Niall's mouth. The other man drank it down, every last drop.

“Tis sweet,” Niall said quietly as he spooned with the shifter. “Perfection as female or male. I have no interest in letting you go.”

Rory pushed away. “I’m no leprechaun where you trap me and I reward you with riches.” He laughed and took on the appearance of the most stereotypical image of a leprechaun he could recall. He winked at Niall and then resumed as Rory.

“I meant I wanted to invite you back to my home. I’m in town to pick up some supplies for our annual Fest. Come with me—it’s a time of joy and celebration. We’ve been doing it for generations to observe our traditions. Come with me to see the puffins if not for the excellent sex and companionship I offer.”

“I recall the puffins,” he said, his eyes unfocused as he remembered them from the last time had been in the Highlands. He smiled and suddenly a puffin was in the bed next to Niall.

“Can you also change your size?” Niall asked. In answer the puffin was now larger than an eagle. A moment later the nude body of Rory reached out to take his partner’s hands.

“It sounds like a great adventure. I assume your Fest will have humans there as well?”

“There they will be, and then more private gatherings where the Daoine Sith shall be dancing.” He pulled Rory into his embrace as he thought about them drawing down the moon.

“Then show me your heart, your home, and your holiday,” Rory whispered into his ear and then he nipped the other’s earlobe. “I was speaking truth when I said I’m on vacation with little regard for clock or calendar. I promise I’ll stay as long as both of us are happy.”

“Ah, the promise of a Pooka. My Granny also told me to never give my heart to one. ‘She’ll one day fly away with it,’ Gran said. We’ll be headed near Aviemore. In less than an hour I’ll be introducing you around.”

“I’m a Pooka and I want to have it all. But first I’ll be ordering room service because I never had a chance for lunch. You stole me away before I could order any food.”

Niall reached to pour out more whisky for both of them. He handed a glass to Rory and said, “Then satisfy yourself and I’ll be off to deal with the tedious details and I’ll swing by to pick you up for your grand adventure.”

“I need to purchase some new clothes if you have me as Rory—unless you prefer me like this,” he smiled as he ran his sharp fingers across his bare chest.

“I do, but I can see the logic of clothing for what we’ll be doing in public. There’s a quality men’s shop just down the wynd.” He wrote his mobile number on the pad by the bed. “Call me when you’ve made your purchases and you’re ready for me to come for you.” He kissed Rory once more and then they both stepped into the shower to clean up. It was a very dirty clean-up. Eventually they stepped out. As he watched, the water on the Pooka’s skin was absorbed so he needed no towel. Even his shiny black hair was now dry.

“Ah, such a trick would save me a lot in laundry service,” he sighed. He dried himself off in a more mundane manner. He quickly pulled his clothes back on and kissed Rory as he walked out the door. The Pooka shifted to Maeve and donned the dress to call room service. She was curious about the men’s shop. One of the advantages of being a shifter was the fact she could tailor her body to match any clothes she bought.

A quick lunch and she set out, asking the front desk manager about the store, which was indeed, visible when she walked out the entrance of the Rocpol. The selection was a bit boring and staid but serviceable. She bought a week’s worth, having no idea how long she’d be with Niall. As a Pooka she would indeed stay as long as she was satisfied. Rory could always buy more clothes.

She returned to her room and became Rory again, looking forward to trying on the new clothes for the first time. The hems of his pants were too long so he became taller until they fit perfectly. He put the rest of his wardrobe into the suitcase he had found in a luggage store that was also near the hotel. He added Maeve’s things as well. Satisfied he called Niall’s number.

“So sweet to hear your voice again,” Niall said. “I’ll only be a moment more and then I’ll be at your service.”

“Why don’t you call me when you’re on your way so I can settle my account and be waiting for you in the lobby?” He agreed and Rory put his own phone down and smiled. This was exactly the sort of thing he needed to put his mind off Fiona and to let go of all the now needless intel on Vincent Campbell.  He was curious if there would be any news reports on the stolen jewelry. He suspected Campbell would not want to advertise his vulnerability to the world. Easier to just have his insurance cover things and allow his business to go back to normal. He stole from the rich and the rich stole from their insurance. In some ways it was a fine world.

Rory took the container that held the diamonds and opened it, letting the sparkling stones tumble onto the bed. He picked up a handful and let them trickle through his fingers. He always preferred the feel of jewels or precious metals to a wad of cash. Although he also appreciated large wads of cash. Content he returned them to the container and placed it back inside the gray purse and then added the purse to the suitcase. He tightened the cap on the scotch and set it next to the purse.

He turned on the television to see if there was anything interesting to watch. The news channels made him depressed as ever over the insane human antics around the globe. It suddenly seemed like an excellent time to be headed to the most rural parts of the Highlands. About twenty minutes later Niall called and he picked up the suitcase and headed downstairs.

He paid his bill in cash and then waited impatiently for the Sith to arrive.

Chapter Three

The airport shuttle dropped McKay off at the hotel he had found on the internet and he checked in. He knew he should get some sleep to deal with the jet lag the travel guide had mentioned and he knew only too well from his fashion week assignments in Italy and France, but the lure of Edinburgh was too great. He showered and brushed his teeth, then dressed and headed out the door. He had asked the concierge for directions to the address of the Pink Thistle. He was curious if there would be many locals there in the late afternoon. Only one way to find out.

The concierge arranged for a cab and on the way he admired the tall and spiky iconic Edinburgh Castle. The pictures on-line and in his guide book did not prepare him for how impressive it was from his window as they drove past. He wondered how many castles he might see while he was here.  The book had informed him there were over two thousand castles in the country. His odds were excellent he would manage to enter one before he returned to the States.

He arrived and was reassured to see a number of rainbow flags fluttering proudly on several of the shops and restaurants as well as the one atop the Pink Thistle. Emboldened he entered the door and was pleased to see several men and a few women. Most were close to his age although there was a scattering of men with hair the color of pewter.

He walked to the bar and waited to catch the attention of the pretty bartender. Her naturally curly hair was strawberry blonde and a light spray of freckles marked her cheeks. As soon as he sat down another patron who looked close to thirty came up to him and said, “Far hi ye bin?” McKay had no clue what he was being asked, and only figured it was a question from the man’s inflection.

“I’m sorry,” McKay smiled. “I’ve just arrived from the States and I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

The man’s pale blue eyes grew wide. “An American? Then you haven’t got a Scooby, Petal?”

“I see your lips moving but I’m only catching a word here or there. I'm sorry.” Did the man just call him a petal?

A second customer moved to stand in front of the first. “Bi crivens, Angus, fitya dee’in? Quit yer blether.” This one’s light brown hair was thinning and he was a lot larger than McKay. Back home he’d be called a bear. "Derek,” he said, thrusting his big hand into the American’s.

McKay felt lost. “McKay,” he replied, but I don’t know what you just said.”

“Haud yer wheesht,” the bartender said to the two locals and laughed. “Leave our poor American alone unless you can speak to him in the Queen’s own.” She turned back to McKay. “Now what can I do you for?”

He reached into his pocket and handed her the business card Jordon had given him on the plane. “Does this look familiar?” He showed her the free drink and heart on the back.

“Aye,” she smiled.  “’tis my first cousin, Jordy. I take it he chatted you up on your flight here. A most friendly man, Jordy is. I suppose he tried to initiate you into the Mile High Club. He’s the only one I know that recruits the best of the bunch when it comes to passengers.”

“He offered me the privilege but I’m not a one night stand kind of guy, especially when it isn’t even for the night. Those restrooms seem too small to get hot and heavy.”

“A bit of quick and dirty flirty can be fun,” Angus said. Derek nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, it sounds as if you’ll have no shortage of offers around here but you can do better than this lot.” Derek laughed out loud and Angus poked him in his sizable middle.

Without asking, she returned with a glass of whisky which she presented to her new American guest. “I heard you introduce yourself as McKay. They call me Gillian.”

“We call her other things when her back is turned,” whispered Angus.

“And don’t think I cannae hear you,” she frowned in a teasing way.   She focused again on McKay. “What brings you to our fair land? Are you here for college?”

“My grandfather Logan McKay just passed and I’m retracing the steps he took from his own village to the States. I loved him dearly and wanted to see what his life was like when he was my age. It’s also the reward I gave myself for having just finished a college degree.”

“Keep your eyes open,” she said in a conspiratorial way.  “These boys are always on the lookout for fresh meat   A pretty thing like you is going to attract wee dicked beasties like Angus and Derek.”

“You just want him for yourself,” said Angus.

“Oh, please,” she laughed. “Even McKay’s not lovely enough to convert me to sausage. I will always be loyal to my ladies.”

She drew a pint each for the two older men and then made a hand gesture of dismissal towards them. “What a wonderful romantic thing to do,” she began, ignoring the men who sullenly withdrew with their ale. “Do you know where your granddad is from? ‘Tis a large country.” She leaned on the bar counter and looked at him directly. Her eyes were a light gray. Up close she really was beautiful and looked like she could also show up for a photo shoot. He could sense she had the sort of energy a camera would love.

“I have his journal with me. There are parts that sound as strange as what Angus and Derek were speaking. I just can’t make heads or tails of it. I do know he’s from the Highlands. I can’t figure out the name of his village but I think it’s in the Cairngorms.”

Gillian gently corrected his pronunciation. “A bonnie area. My family is from around there.” She frowned for a moment in concentration. “How flexible are you?”

McKay looked up from the whisky and said, “I think you’re really beautiful but I’m not quite that flexible.” He looked embarrassed.

“What a blusher you are! And by flexible I meant about your schedule, not your sleeping arrangements. I’m not Jordy and I’m also not a fan of a one night stand. Do you have everything in a tight schedule the way a lot of Americans do, or might you embrace your Celtic roots and be ready to go wherever your heart moves you?”

“In answer to your actual question—I’m open to pretty much anything. I left my ticket with an open return so I’m under no pressure to get back to the States on a particular day. I figured I’d need some time to ask for help in finding where my Granddad Logan might be from.”

“Brilliant,” she smiled. “Perhaps this was meant to be for I’ll be leaving on my way back home to take part in our annual Fest. It’s been going on for a couple of hundred years. It would be a real and direct introduction to what it means to be Scottish and from the Highlands.” She laughed again. “Although be prepared to keep a Scottish dictionary close by if you find the patrons in here hard to follow. Each region has its own way with words.”

She left to pull another glass of ale and presented it to one of the women who had come forward. “Here yah go, my dove.” Then she returned to McKay. “So if you’re not a serial killer and you want to take a big sip from the teat of life, why not come with me? It’s less than three hours in my wee Ford Fiesta.  After that you can continue on your journey of discovery, or return with me to Edinburgh to begin your search here, but it makes more sense to me for you to go straight to the Highlands to pick up your McKay threads and weave yourself in. Bring your Grandda’s journal and I’ll see if I can tease something from it.”

“How can I refuse such an offer,” he said. He took another sip of the strong liquor. “And I can’t think of a better guide to take me on my way.”

“Well, you’ve already met Jordy so you might as well get to know the rest of my crazy family.” She left again to wait on another customer. The place was starting to get busy and between the jet lag and the whisky he was winding down. He flagged Gillian to let her know where to pick him up tomorrow morning and hit the road.

By the time he had made it back to his hotel he was already starting to yawn. He got a bite to eat and double checked his alarm to make certain he’d be ready when Gillian arrived. Satisfied, he was asleep before he could remember to switch off the light.

Chapter Four

“Charming,” Rory said, looking at the castle. He was actually thinking, “And probably stuffed to the bursting with all the petty intrigues inherent in courts.” It was said there were solitary Sidhe and trooping ones. A Pooka was definitely not a trooper. He was already apprehensive about being around Niall’s people. He felt more comfortable surrounded by humans with their lack of complications and fat bank accounts.

“Oh, you should have seen it in its glory,” sighed Niall. “It’s a shadow of its former self. It’s been declining over the years and nothing we’ve been able to find has been able to make much of a difference or turn the tide. Some think it’s a type of curse, but even after paying good money to those specializing in breaking curses, it still hasn’t helped.”

“Fine enough for me as long as you’re beside me,” Rory smiled. Niall led the way through the wide outside doors. To the Pooka it looked the same as any castle. Bric-a-brac, gewgaws, gimcracks, knickknacks and bibelots were crowded about in every direction. As usual, he glanced around for anything valuable he might consider stealing. Rory’s tastes focused on modern lines and designs, not stuffy traditionalism. Disappointed he found nothing he wanted, the Pooka turned his attention back to his host.

“Well, ‘tis home,” the Sith muttered. As they walked through the hallway a few humans dipped their heads in Niall’s direction and looked with open curiosity at the Pooka as they hurried off to do whatever they were doing. Rory dismissed them as the culchies and oafs that never found themselves more than an hour from where they were born. Everywhere he looked on the walls were portraits of the Daoine Sith.

“Ah, Carmichael,” Niall said as they encountered yet another human, “I’m looking for my mother. Have you seen her lately?”

“The last time I saw her she was in the kitchen supervising everything.” Carmichael nodded his head in acknowledgement of Rory.

“I’ve also just arrived with a load you’ll find in the car.” He walked on with Rory following. The kitchen was a busy place with both humans and Sith at their tasks.

“Mac,” a beautiful woman greeted him. “And who is this fine chiel you’ve come with?”

“Sweet Mathair,” he said, “his name is Rory, and trust me, he’s older than he looks. And this, is my mother, Kenna.”

“An honor,” Rory smiled. He took her hand and as she looked at him directly he slowly shifted his eye color to match her green ones.

“And talented as well,” she whispered. In a louder voice she announced she was taking a break. She inclined her head for the two to accompany her and they ended up in a drawing room where she shut the doors. “Now,” Kenna said, “we can be free and open. What might yah be?”

“Anything you want,” Rory grinned. He was suddenly a large black wolf again. She stepped back with her eyes wide and he shifted into a peacock with oddly dark feathers. Then he was a sleek black horse with frightening red eyes. Then he was simply Rory as if nothing had happened.

“I’d recognize a Pooka anywhere,” she said. “I’ve not seen your kind in more years than I can name. My own dear Mathair used to tell me a Pooka is as rare as an honest man.” “She also would say why they were so rare around civilized folk like the Sith,” she thought to herself. Politely she stepped to a small table and poured whisky from a cut crystal bottle and handed the glasses to the other two and then prepared one for herself.

“And where did you meet,” she asked Niall. She held the glass in her small hands and admired it. She had not yet taken a sip.

“At the Rocpol when I was in town for the supplies and to sign some papers.”

“The Rocpol?” she asked, her eyebrows moving slightly upward. “A most expensive place,” she murmured.

“I have expensive and excellent taste,” Rory grinned, touching Niall’s back as a statement of ownership. A Pooka was as territorial as a cat.

“I wish my son did, too,” Kenna thought to herself. She set her untouched glass down and said aloud, “I’m sure it’s been a long journey for your guest. Why not show him to your room and then rejoin me privately so we can touch on some of the last minute details for the Fest.” She kissed her son on the cheek and then bowing slightly to Rory, she headed back to the kitchen.

“What a mother you have,” Rory said. “I hope she’s comfortable with my being here.”

“Why ever would she not?” Niall said as he kissed him. “Over the many years I’ve brought both male and female lovers. Of course I will say what would truly please her is if I had fathered brats by now.” They finished with their drinks and then Niall led Rory to his chambers. To Rory’s eyes it was comfortable and comfy, but nothing fancy or special. Again—there was nothing he could see that was worth stealing. More than anything he was aware of the fact Kenna’s glass remained full. What true child of the Isles would not share a drink to welcome a newcomer?

After showing him where things were Niall told Rory he’d be back up after dealing with his mother’s concerns. He shut the bedroom door and Rory held still for a moment, listening with more than human skill. He heard the Sith round the corner into the hall. Satisfied he was safely alone, the Pooka began to quickly riffle through the many drawers and the carved boxes that abounded.

He uncovered a ring made of pewter engraved with Celtic designs. “I suppose this would have been worth something—a few hundred years ago.” He let it bounce back to the front of the drawer where he had found it. “Not even magic,” he sighed. In the closet he swiftly fingered and felt the clothes, paying careful attention to the ceremonial wear. Half a dozen sporrans were scattered about and one held a handful of coins older than the E.U. –along with a wadded up handkerchief. He was puzzled at the pinch of rice he found at the bottom of one of the fancier ones.

He traced the scrollwork on a really quality brooch attached to Niall’s fly plaid, that went over one shoulder. It was set with small rubies. Beautiful but something everyone in the area would recognize as belonging to his host. Although he loved the Internet it meant easily identified items like the brooch would be difficult to fence. It helped to put things away for a few decades, but he was getting worried that technology was advancing so quickly, whatever the World Wide Web mutated to in a generation would be able to track what now belonged to him—that might have belonged to someone else. It was why he had turned more often to jewels. They were valuable in the past. They’d be valuable many tomorrows from today. He opened the window and leaned on the sill. “Fie,” he hissed, “a thief should not have to work this hard.” He sighed, “At least the sex is good.”

Niall walked quickly to rejoin his mother in order to satisfy her and then he could go back to Rory. Emerging into the kitchen he saw her at the open door looking out into the gardens. Seeing him she walked outside, expecting him to follow.

“What is it?” he said, closing the door.

“How could you bring a Pooka into our home? Didnee even listen to your granny? She warned you to avoid the thievin’ bastards! They don’t even have glamour. If they have to use Power they’re no better than a village hedge witch!” She spat on the ground and a tiny cloud of black smoke swirled up.

“I remember her having several fingers of the whisky in the drawing room and then her bad mouthing more than Pookas. It’s the twenty-first century—we should be beyond these old petty pokes and jabs. Maybe it’s that kind of attitude that’s been bleeding away our vitality. I’m old enough to remember when our crops and herds were many and strong. And when has a single Sith infant been born? Is not Moira the youngest of us all and she’s past forty years?”

He turned away from her and towards the east wing where Rory and his bedroom were waiting. “I’ve been enjoying his company. I won’t kick him out on his arse because my granny was prejudiced against anyone who wasn’t part of our family.” He turned back and looked at his frowning mother. “And be honest—after enough alcohol she wasn’t that fond of her family.”

“We have our ways and our words for a reason,” she said flatly. “Respect the teachings of your elders. Pookas weren’t meant to be in true society. They’re as welcome as water in a holed ship. One comes by every few generations in the hopes they can steal from the ones who are too young to know better. It’s the nature of a Pooka to be a Pooka. And him like a high king at the Rocpol. I bet he paid the bill not with fairy gold but with swag he’s stolen from someone.”

Niall laughed, “And it was so proper,” he drew out the word, “that in the old days our family paid in the coin of fairy gold that would only be dried leaves when touched by the light of dawn? We are the ones with the high ground?”

“I’ve said what I meant to say,” She had her hand on the doorknob of the kitchen, “You’re a grown man and you should be making your own decision.” She paused and looked at him, “And you should learn from your mistakes, like the one that’s in your bedroom.” He watched the door close and he struggled to control his temper. He felt it was so unfair for her to judge Rory when she had no way of knowing him.

Taking a deep breath he reentered the house and set off for the Pooka. He tried not to rush but the hallway had never felt so long before. He opened his bedroom door and saw Rory curled up on the bed in the shape of a large black dog with blazing eyes. Then Rory was looking at him. “Wolf for the woods, and hound for the house,” he said lightly.

“Let’s scare up some afternoon tea,” Niall said, stretching out his hand to touch Rory’s face. “You may have had a late lunch but my own stomach is reminding me I’m in need of nourishment.” Rory rose gracefully off the bed. As the Sith watched, his mussed hair moved by itself into a knife sharp part. “Not even a want for a mirror?”

“A Pooka is exquisitely aware of his body. I can feel when it’s done up right and proper.”  He had put away his clothes into Niall’s closet and slipped his new suitcase under the bed. He dressed and together they stepped into the hallway. Rory looked troubled.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked the Pooka.

“That smell,” Rory said so quietly Niall had to strain to hear him. “I thought we’d be far enough from the Shetlands to be safe from the likes of him.”

They rounded the corner and a dark haired man had stepped out of a guest room. He was tall and lean like Niall but looked older. Thick stubble lined the lower half of his face. His eyes were an olive green. “Niall,” he said, “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.” Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at Rory. His eyes filled with the color of molten gold. His features began to waiver and he seemed to grow taller and wider. His hands were becoming claws and his face lengthened into more of a snout.

“Ah, Mathow,” Niall whispered, “How can you be losing control like you were a wee lad again? Change back before someone sees you.”

“A Wulver has no control,” Rory growled from behind him. “I’d recognize that stink anywhere.” He had become a black wolf again and silently bared his sharp fangs at Mathow. As a horrified Niall watched, Rory took on his human form again. “Half-shifter,” Rory said, his tone icy. “Stuck in between a true wolf and a true man. Aren’t your kind better suited to stay outdoors?”

“Both of you,” Niall said, “I’ve none of this. It’s like the old tales of hospitality being beaten to death in our home. I don’t know why you both react this way but I tell you it stops now.” He looked from Rory to Mathow and then back again. “We’re polite enough to pretend the mortals know not what we are. The last thing we need is for one of you to blatantly show off how non-human we can truly be. It may have been well over a century since an Enforcer came to the Highlands, but I damned well won’t sit by and watch you cry out for one.”

Rory said nothing but stood in front of Niall with crossed arms. With self-righteous scorn he watched Mathow struggle to return to his human form. All Niall could see was the pain the shifting caused his distant cousin. Mathow’s family had always come to the Fest and been welcomed. He could hear the breaking of bones that reformed themselves and was impressed that Mathow was not screaming out in pain. Rory made it seem so effortless.

“Then let’s be on our way to show everyone how civilized and human I can be,” Rory said, leading the way. He could hear Niall trying to comfort the now almost human Mathow. When Rory turned the corner he looked into the frightened face of a gray-haired human woman. “And what might yeh be looking at, yah gammy tool?” She looked as if she were going to cry and he strode past her. He kept reminding himself the sex with Niall was good. But he was beginning to wonder if it was really that good.

Chapter Five

“I love this bridge,” McKay told Gillian. “Everything is so clean.” He looked at the stonework they were driving over. “It feels as if we’ve wandered into the past. We haven’t seen another car for nearly an hour and everything looks like pictures in a story book. There were times we were passing villages that look as if they were built by Disney and I expected the inhabitants to clock out at 5pm to go home to their condos.”

“Oh, it’s all real enough,” she said. “But for all the years I’ve gone back and forth from home to the Pink Thistle and back again I do feel like I’m crossing into a different world.” She pointed out a deer to him that was bounding away, deeper into the woods. “And not a time there is where I don’t look forward to going home and not a time when I don’t look forward to driving back to Edinburgh. This place starts feeling too small and people start talking about me not marrying a man and popping out babies. It’s why cousin Jordy led the way out.”

“Are people really homophobic?” McKay asked.

“I doubt it’s a word they’ve even heard. It’s more that in communities like mine people become set in their ways.” She slowed down to let McKay take in the grandeur of the mountains that had suddenly come into view. “And those ways don’t include someone like me living with her lady love. What the well-bred do is their prerogative,” she said, a chill creeping into her tone. “They bed whom they like.” She looked over at McKay and smiled.

“So,” she said, “Do you know why the men here wear kilts?” She held his eyes for the punchline. “Because sheep can hear a zipper.”

McKay laughed.

“The royalty will have men, women, children or sheep,” she said. “But folks like me are held to stricter standards.”

“Does your family know about you and Jordon?”

“Aye,” she sighed. “I’d describe things as a begrudged acceptance. My great-grandfather Riley went in with us as a silent partner when Jordy proposed we open a gay bar far enough away from home where our own fine citizens would not wander accidentally into a bar with a rainbow flag fluttering proudly in the breeze. After a couple of years he was accepted into the airlines as a flight attendant and I turned old enough to take over managing it.”

“Do people come to visit?”

“There’s one special friend of mine who came down a couple of times but then she settled in, married a man and soon turned her parents into grandparents. Then she came no more.” She took a left hand fork in the road. “When I was last home she had just had her third wee one.”

A few minutes later McKay started seeing signs welcoming them to Aviemore. “We’ll be stopping here to pick up some supplies. I always bring my family fresh foods. I’ve already put some spirits into the trunk. Being one of the owners of a bar means I am very popular when we’re ready to raise a toast.” She parked and looked at McKay. “My family’s not a wealthy one, and the bar’s made a bonnie profit. If they won’t admire me for my being a chick magnet, they will admire me as nouveau riche. I’ve never come home empty handed.”

She pulled into a small Tesco and took a yellow list from her purse. McKay followed her with a shopping cart as she started to efficiently hand him fruits and vegetables and then sorted through meats. “I’d offer to take you around to grab something for us to eat, but the moment we drive up to my family’s home they’ll be trying to stuff our faces before our car doors will close.” She pointed out her choice to a clerk who started wrapping her selections in paper. “Jordy would sometimes bring a boyfriend home from Edinburgh and not warn him. His guest would grab something to eat here in Aviemore. Then Jordy would take him from house to house in our village and each family would insist his visitor eat again. He’d laugh as the guy felt as if was going to explode and tell him to bounce up and down on his chair to pack the food down because they had another home to visit and then they’d have to go to the castle for the real feast.”

McKay helped her load up the bags and boxes into the backseat. She pulled out and headed east. The way became a journey through the woods and any sense of the small resort town was soon left behind.

“They’ll sing songs in an older language than we use now,” she said. “You might see them do things you consider odd, but that’s just what we do here.” She took another left fork and increased her speed. “If you’re curious about something it would be better to ask me about it privately. People are not used to opening up to strangers.”

“You mean odd things like Morris Dancing?” He had been puzzled to see photographs of men Morris Dancing in his guidebook, which had led him to watch some on-line videos. To his American eyes, the dancing looked like Monty Python’s interpretation of a gay pride parade. Each video had featured a different group of dancers and they varied in colors and costume but each one seemed over the top and most wore hats covered in flowers. In the seven videos he had watched, he had yet to see a butch looking dancer.

“We have something like that with the Mums,” she said. “Although you’d be more proper to call them Mummers. Morris Dancing was outlawed in Scotland as the Presbyterians came into power with the Reformation hundreds of years ago. But our village is so isolated and protected by our own fair Lairds who hold traditions highly, many things are still as they were.”

McKay began to see a castle looming in the distance but Gillian took a back road that led them behind to smaller stone houses that clustered together into their own village. “In the old days everyone lived in the castle,” she said, pulling up to one that seemed to McKay to be indistinguishable from the ones beside it. “But as no invaders showed up and the population continued to grow, the common folks started building these homes for themselves. I also understand it was easier not to constantly have the royals underfoot. Being in their own homes made people feel more like employees than servants.”

The door flew open and an assortment of children rushed out calling “Gillian! Gillian!” She emerged and was covered in an assortment of hugging hands. McKay enjoyed seeing how welcome his new friend was. He looked up and saw a few adults also coming out.

The children danced away to allow their elders to greet Gillian on their own.  “McKay,” she said, “meet my Aunt Agnes and Uncle Liam—they’re Jordy’s parents. And this is my great-grandfather, Riley.” She turned from the hug she was giving to the oldest looking human McKay had ever seen. The only person he had known who looked even more ancient was Mona. When Mahihkan was forced to introduce McKay to the reality of the Supernatural community he had seen Mona at a distance. Mahihkan had simply identified her as a “non-shifter.”

McKay was curious exactly what type of Supernatural she was but Mahihkan was reluctant to elaborate. “I’ve said far too much to you as it is. Besides, it sort of feels like Outing a person as gay to tell you what others want to keep a secret when it comes to their identity.”

“I need some time alone with you,” she leaned in close to Riley’s ear. “McKay is trying to find where his grandfather came from.”

“You’ll have your chance to gab with your Sinn-Seanair,” Agnes said. “But leave Riley alone for now. We’re right in the middle of getting things ready and I need to herd you both inside so we can properly feed you. So what might you be bringing us this time?”

McKay opened the doors of the back seat and a parade of older children started toting in the packages and boxes the adults assigned them. Her Uncle Liam was charged with bringing the liquor from the trunk. There were more than a dozen adults inside and McKay gave up trying to keep track of the number of children. When Gillian opened a bag of candy the sweets and the children suddenly disappeared. The noise level dropped considerably.

After a brief introduction that left McKay’s head full, Agnes started filling two plates from the many pots warming on the stove. When they finished, Gillian showed him to her old room while the rest of her family went back to their preparations.

“This may be one of the few times we have a bit of peace,” she said, flopping on to a bed. “Let me look at your grandfather’s journal.” He nodded and pulled it out of his bag. Agnes came by a moment later carrying a tray with cups and a pot of tea. She set it on the table by the bed and McKay thanked her.

Agnes stared openly at him. “You look like you should be on TV or something,” she said, almost to herself. “Movie star looks, we used to say.” She turned and walked out, shaking her head. She closed the door behind her.

“Want to take a bet as to how long she’ll hold out before asking you if you’ve slept with Jordy?” Gillian laughed and started to inspect the journal. By the time she had finished a second cup of tea, she looked up at McKay. “I can help some, but not nearly as much as I’d like. There are parts of it that seem as if it were written by someone like Riley—a bit long-toothed—what my Aunt Agnes would call auld-farrant. That means old-fashioned. It’s a bit thick but I can sound it out. There’s some interesting stuff and I’d like to go back over it with you later. But there are whole sections of this that I don’t even recognize as related to Gaelic. Do you know if your Grandda spoke any other languages?”

McKay frowned. “Not to my knowledge. He only talked about his Scottish heritage and he pieced out that information in as small amount as he could.”

“For the entries that aren’t in that strange tongue, he uses terms that would still be used in our village today, at least by the older members. I’ll ask Riley if he ever heard of Logan McKay. I’ll also show him the mysterious writing but I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Anything you or your family can tell me I’ll appreciate.”

“He writes about some of the things you’ll see while you’re here.” She glanced again at Logan’s tight and clean writing. It was also obvious to her Logan’s eyes had been wide open to the fact this was all a nest for the Daoine Sith. It was the first time she had ever seen The Secret they were supposed to keep spelled out on a page. Apparently Logan was a human who wasn’t trying to hide anything even in his private journal. Her childhood was filled with dire warnings to never talk about the reality of their local Lairds or that magic was as commonplace as sheep.

“What did you know about Logan’s history?” She turned the journal over and looked at him.

“After he left Scotland he stayed with a cousin of his who had married an American she had met when he was stationed overseas during World War Two. From Chicago he moved to Seattle.”

“Aye,” she nodded. “He uses an old word for the Ocean. He needed to be two oceans away. That makes no sense to me. I’m just telling you what I see.”

“He met my grandmother Mary McKenzie there. They had a son named Donald and he married Kathrine McCloud. My father was a Professor at Berkeley.” His voice grew a little softer. “I never met my Grandmother Mary. My parents were killed in a car crash when I was little. I barely remember them. My Granddad drove down to California to claim me. He’s been the only family I’ve ever known. He got a phone call his cousin in Chicago had passed away when I was around twelve. She left no children.” He hesitated. “I’m all alone.”

“Alone,” she smiled, “but nae unloved. Never unloved. There’s something special about you, McKay.” She closed the journal and sat back.

She was still irritated at the major sections of text she could not read. Logan’s revealing pen also restricted her as to those she could trust enough to see what else Logan had described. There was no way she could take it to one of the many Sith. They would burn it and would consider removing the last remaining trace of the McKays. That her own life would be worthless was a given. The only one she could really trust was Riley. Nervously she unconsciously wove a small braid in her hair. As children they called such a thing a Sith braid. It was supposed to be a protection against their glamour. She caught herself halfway through and laughed at herself. Riley had told her long ago the secret was to envision she was weaving together the three strands of her soul, spirit and mind. When those were in harmony—that was the greatest protection she or any human could have against the unknown.

There was again a knock at the door and Gillian stood up to open it. Her Aunt was staring impatiently at her, the older woman’s hands full of clothing. As she walked in her eyebrows rose upon seeing the small braid in her niece’s hair. “Wrap a wee ribbon about that if you intend to parade around the castle,” she said in a low voice. She placed her burden on the bed and turned back to McKay. “Tradition is important to the people here. For the Fest it’s expected we dress appropriately. Seeing as how you are our guest I’ve pulled out some things that should fit you.” She looked at Gillian and added, “I had your own outfit aired out and cleaned in anticipation of your arrival. Now the two of you get busy because you’ll need to be ready before true dark.”

She shut the door and McKay ran his finger across the fine wool. “That one is mine and you should not be doing drag for the Fest,” Gillian teased. She separated the items out and pushed the proper ones in his direction.

“It looks a lot less complicated in the photos,” he said. “What’s this?” He held up a strip of the brightly colored cloth.

“’Tis a fly plaid,” she explained. “It will go over your shoulder and covers your heart.” Taking charge she began to dress him. “Aye,” she said as he removed his shirt with a model’s experience appearing in public both in and out of clothes, “You’ve abs worth waiting for. No wonder you attracted Jordy’s attention.” Skillfully, having dressed several younger male cousins as she was growing up, she told him the old names of each article of clothing and had him presentable in a few minutes. “Your sporran is crooked,” she said as she pulled at it. “It’s large enough to hold your wallet—and a supply of condoms,” she laughed. “I was only concerned about the fit of the ghillies, but your feet seem made for them. Are they comfortable?” He nodded.

“Now—one more thing—left or right?” she smiled again.

“What does it matter when I’m in a kilt?” Now Gillian looked confused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m asking if you’re left or right handed. It makes a difference for the placing of the sgian-dubh.” She went back to the bed and came back with a knife—the handle was made of deer antler.

“Wait—I’ve got this—in my guidebook it says dubh means black. But there’s nothing black about that knife.”

“Aye,” she said. “It can mean black as sin, but it also means hidden.” She placed it into a thin leather sheath. “You tuck it in at the top of your hose—on the right or left side depending on your dominant hand. Just the top part of the hilt is to show—the rest being hidden.”

“So it’s a secret weapon?”

“Nay,” she laughed, “it’s because a kilt has no pockets. And ‘tis no secret since all of us know where you keep it. Throughout our history the sgian-dubh was used a lot more to cut cheese and bread than as a weapon. What you think of as knives and forks are more recent additions to our tables. This,” she said as she handed him the knife, “was meant to be practical for everyday usage.” She grinned in a wicked way. “Although there is a story an angry wife stabbed her husband through the heart with his own sgian-dubh when she caught him cheating.”

He tucked it carefully on his left side. “I hope this won’t lead to a permanent dent on my leg in the process,” he smiled at her.

“Nah,” she said. “You’ll not be wearing the sgian-dubh flat against your leg so long that you’d be in any danger.” She stepped back to look at him.

“Amazing,” she whispered. “You should always wear this.” She laughed, “You were born to wear it.” She pulled him to the mirror in the corner of the room.

In the past few years he had worn a wide assortment of high-end fashion. But he had never thought of wearing something like this. He looked as if he belonged in a museum. He turned a couple of times, watching the way the kilt moved. “Jordy used to spin in front of this same mirror like that when it was his turn in the castle.”

“Is this his?” He touched the antique brooch on the fly plaid she had called a “sword and targe.” It was a miniature sword and shield. In the center was a lemon colored gem about the size of a quarter she had told him was a Cairngorm stone—a crystal from the nearby mountains

“Surely you’re joking,” she smiled. “Jordy would never leave his things here when he can wear them proudly at every event he fancies. He’s emailed me pictures of him looking so righteous at gay pride parades in Japan or Amsterdam. When you’re on foreign soil, you’ll always stand out as a true Scotsman.”

She had begun dressing herself. “When a man puts on the family’s finest he looks like a Laird. But to my own eyes when I put this on I look as if I should be carrying a tray of drinks in a pub for American tourists. I hate dresses because they’re such a statement of how I’m seen and my expected role back here at home.” She shook her head when she looked in the mirror and opened a drawer to pull out a ribbon that picked up the colors she was wearing. She pushed one end through the braid she had made and then pulled half of it out, criss-crossing it on top of what her Great-Grandfather Riley called her “spiritual protection.” Satisfied she put her arm through his. “Now let us show off how good we City Folk look. Get ready for a tour of the Fair Lairds’ castle.” They walked past her Aunt Agnes who nodded her approval, then both left to join the Fest.

Chapter Six

Niall sought the Pooka who was fuming in front of the great Fireplace. “Rory,” he began. The Pooka felt the Sith push at him with his glamour and it made him furious.

“The hell you’re doing?” he spat. “Trying your magic at the likes of me? You can screw with the mind of any human or Sith, but Pookas are immune to your meddling.”

“But at the bar--” Niall frowned.

“It was my pleasure to trick you—letting you think it was your witchy ways that seduced me when in truth I seduced you. All I needed to do was spread my legs and you were mine. What were you trying to do just now? Tame me like some blind cow?”

“I was hoping to take the edge off, but if that’s no option then I’ll speak directly: hospitality is sacred and I wish no animosity or anger in our home to Mathow and our other guests.”

“Other guests? And might I be tripping over a stray Boobrie Bird or the likes of a Gille Dubh dripping his leaves and grubby moss wherever he walks? Do you let just anyone wander your halls?”

Niall frowned and thought, “I’m starting to question the wisdom of having welcomed a Pooka in my home.” He hated it when he had to admit his mother had been right and he had been wrong. Again.

“And might I be pointing out that your precious hospitality should include me as your guest as well? Just keep your mangy Wulver away from me and we’ll be fine.” He turned to face the fire again, giving his back to the Sith.

Niall walked away, struggling to hold in his own temper. He automatically headed for the place he had sought solace from since his childhood. In a few moments he entered the old chapel. He was one of the few who still used it. Looking around to make certain he was alone he waved his hands and the many candles flamed on. There was a dance of shadows and he felt the tension start to drain from him. He sat down and considered his options. There was no clean way of dealing with this—the Pooka was correct in stating the Sacred Laws of Hospitality applied as much to him as anyone else. But the thought of sharing his bed again with such a nasty piece of work made him shudder. The sex had been among the best he had had. It just came at a great price.

McKay was thrilled to be in his first castle. It reminded him of old movies and sword and sorcery films that would feature a dungeon. The place looked as if it would have one somewhere. Didn’t all castles have dungeons? Gillian was a fine guide. Accustomed to entertaining countless patrons, she was as skilled at patter as she was at pouring a drink back at The Pink Thistle. She also had a sense of pride about her community, even if she had a hard time staying in it for more than a few nights at celebrations like this one. Dwarfed by the Edinburgh Castle he had driven past on his first day in Scotland, this one was nonetheless so large he felt as if he were in some national museum. He had never seen so many portraits before.

“Look yah here,” she called. McKay joined her and she pointed to a painting within an elaborate frame. The subject l0ooked a lot like McKay, but the tartan was different. His bright red hair was longer than McKay’s, touching his shoulders and had a slight curl. “I’ve been thinking about this one ever since I pinned you up. It’s not like looking into a mirror, but you have to admit there’s a resemblance.”

“Who is he?” McKay asked. To his own eye the portrait reminded him more of the magazine cover that had featured his Grandfather Logan in a kilt. In truth, all three of them looked related.

“One of the Lairds,” she said quietly. “He was killed in 1719 at the Battle of Glenshiel. I was told the Spanish Armada was about to attack.” She looked around, making certain they were alone. “He was said to have Fairy blood and used his magic to raise a storm mighty enough that the Spanish fleet was crushed against the rocky shores. Bonnie Laird Jaime,” she nodded. “He was greatly admired.”

“Fairy blood, eh?” He wagged his eyebrows at her the way Jordon had at 35,000 feet.

“Fairy doesn’t mean gay in these parts,” she muttered.

“Oh, trust me,” he said, thinking of his time with Mahihkan when he was introduced to the Supernatural Community, “I’ve learned the world is a much bigger place than I believed and contains many wonders.” He smiled at her. “Plenty of room for fairies or a few werewolves.”

“Let’s just keep that to ourselves,” she advised. “The Lairds don’t like such discussions in their presence.” Nervously she pulled him away and they continued on their tour. They walked down a staircase and she led him further on. They were in front of a small room that seemed to have candles everywhere. They entered quietly, and it took a moment for McKay to realize he was holding his breath.

Gillian made a small noise. “My apologies, good Sir,” she said. McKay then saw there was a man seated on one of the benches in the front row. He was dressed as if he had walked out of one of the portraits. He stood up and McKay forgot to breathe again. He was long and lean and auburn haired. He looked as if he could be a spokesmodel for Dolce and Gabbana. “We knew not that yeh was here or we would not have disturbed you.” To McKay’s surprise she looked down at the toes of her shoes. He never suspected she could appear so demure.

Niall said nothing at first, looking intently at both of them. “Beautiful,” he said, “The both of you. Ah, Gillian, is it not? You grace us once more with your presence. When you moved away you broke the hearts of many men—and women.” Then he turned his attention to McKay and his smile widened. “But I don’t know you. You’re someone I would make a point of remembering. Come and sit beside me and tell me your name. I’m Niall.”

Obviously uncomfortable in his presence, Gillian nodded in respect and stepped forward with McKay close behind. “McKay,” he said, and Niall reached out to shake his hand. When they touched, the younger man felt a mild electric shock. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. He had experienced it a few times when making love to Mahihkan. He wondered if Niall might be a werewolf as well.

“And is this your first time at our Fest, or were you carried away as a wee changling child and are just now returning?”

“This is my first time in Scotland,” McKay explained. “I’m looking for my roots.”

“Ah,” said Niall, “no mistaking an American accent when it’s thick as yours. But by the look of you, you’re in the right place. Be welcome in our home, McKay.” He squeezed the American’s hand and held it for a moment before he let go.

“Ah,” thought McKay, “are all the good looking men in Scotland gay?” Aloud he said, “Thank you.”

The three all sat for a moment in silence while the candle flames flared around them. Niall felt as if he had made the only decision he could. His mother had been correct—a Pooka didn’t belong among civilized people. He glanced at the American. “This one,” he thought, “definitely belongs.” He leaned back and looked more relaxed. “It’s getting on—since you seem to be giving him the grand tour, go ahead and be about your business and then join us in the Great Hall. Such a pair you are, though I suspect that doesn’t describe your relationship.” He smiled and looked at McKay. “I insist the two of you sit by me so we can all admire you. Now I need to take care of some business of my own.” He stood and walked gracefully out of the door. Gillian dropped her docile appearance and took a deep breath.

“Does he always have that effect on people?” McKay asked, looking at the empty hallway.

“Aye,” she said. “He does on me and I’ve never been with a man. Nor wanted to be. But there’s just something about him that can’t be ignored.” She stood up and led McKay back up the stairs. In the back corner of the chapel a small black cat stepped forward. By the time the cat had leapt through the door it had become Rory again.

“And you told me I was welcome in your heart,” Rory whispered. “Am I so light a liking you’d bump me from your bed for a mere mortal?” He started upstairs. “Bah,” he said, “I can smell the damned Wulver even from here.” He stomped upwards. “Cross not a Pooka,” he told himself, “I’m tired of messing with males at this point.” He returned to Niall’s bedroom and pulled out his suitcase. A few minutes later, Maeve stepped into the Great Hall. She smiled in a predatory way. “Gillian is mine.”

She looked around and saw Kenna returning to the kitchen. She turned, smelling Niall behind her. “So it’s Maeve again,” he said quietly. “You told me when we first met you’d stay as long as both of us were happy. I assume from your appearance you’re no happier than I at the moment.”

“You deceived me,” she said icily. “Did you not recognize me as a raven perching above you when your dear mother praised Pookas everywhere? She called us thievin’ bastards.” She walked up and touched her forefinger above Niall’s heart. “She said I had the magic of a village hedge witch. Well, when it comes to Power I be not needing a gift of prophecy to know I’m about to be replaced by the American. Heed my words: look for the heat in that fiery red hair of his all you like but you’ll never once have the hot pleasure I could have given you.” She turned away and added, “I’ll take my things and find another room to free your bed.” She walked out of the Great Hall adding, “I’ll just go amuse myself with the girl.”

“Harm her not,” he said in a whisper, knowing the Pooka could still hear him.

“Oh, I intend her no harm,” she called. “Pure pleasure for the both of us.” Then she walked back in and said, “I am more man than you’ll ever be, more woman than you’ll ever have. Just remember how much I will be pleasing Gillian while you compare how better I was in bed than the boy you’ll be groping.” Then she was gone.

Niall slowly closed his mouth and forced himself still as his mother came in with a bouquet of flowers and set them on a table. “Mac,” she said, “what’s wrong—you look so troubled?”

“You’ve no idea,” he said and walked out.

Chapter Seven

“Gillian,” the Pooka called to her. She looked up at McKay, not recognizing the beautiful black-haired woman as part of the noble family. But it was not unusual for them to have relatives come for the Fest just as she had returned. She nodded to him and approached the woman. “Niall was telling me about you. Let us save a lot of time and be up front with each other. I’ll be far more entertaining than any other woman you’ll find beneath this roof. I find a powerful attraction to you.” She stepped closer and said softly, “Mayhap you have some Sith blood in those fine veins.” Gillian sucked in her breath and then touched the ribbon covered braid in her hair.

“Yes,” Maeve said, “I knew you’re no fool. In my experience mortals who grow up serving the Daoine Sith know exactly what they’re doing.” She took another step towards Gillian, now close enough where she could feel her warmth. She could also smell the exquisite combination of fear and arousal coming from the mortal. “Might you be knowing the term Leannan Sith?”

Gillian looked surprised. “It’s from the legends—it means a Fairy Lover.”

“Aye,” she smiled. “And if you remember your childhood stories you’ll know what pleasure—and Power I can offer you.” She reached out and touched the small braid. “You won’t need this to be safe with me. I’m not one who will spill glamour into your eyes. You see me as I truly am and I’ll not deceive you. You grew up like all the others here—threatened into keeping The Secret. But I grant you permission to be free with me. I shall protect you.”

“What of McKay?”

Maeve stepped back. “I have no interest in that one. Niall has his own plans and needs but that’s not my concern or yours. Tell the American you’ll return to him after I’ve shown you where my room is and where I’ll be expecting you after dinner tonight. And tell him not the truth of what I am. That’s a privilege I grant to you and you alone.”

Gillian stood frozen while trying to make sense of what was happening. She had grown up among the Sith. She was both apart from and a part of this community. She was not prepared for The Secret to be spoken so directly by one of the Fair Folk. She nodded and stepped back feeling numb. She had fallen into a fairy tale.

Chapter Eight

As people began to take seats in the Great Hall, Maeve walked stiffly in front of Niall and Kenna, not acknowledging them as she continued on her way, entering the kitchen and then leaving to seek the woods. Niall had explained to his mother that he was no longer together with the Pooka. “And now he’s a woman?” Kenna shook her head. “And you wonder why people talk about you behind your back when it comes to relationships.”

They had just taken their seats when McKay and Gillian approached them. “The woman by his side is Kenna, his mother and Lady of the Castle,” she whispered. They respectfully drew close to the head table where the two royals were sitting. McKay’s world of modeling had taught him to recognize the touch of a scalpel or laser on a woman who appeared no older than her son. In this case she had none.

“My son told me to expect beauty in front of me,” she said graciously. “He didn’t prepare me for such perfection.” She stood up and unexpectedly touched McKay’s face and then Gillian’s. Her touch was light and unusually warm. Her eyes lingered a moment on the small braid in Gillian’s hair and she smiled. “Please,” she said, sitting down, “be seated on the other side of us and we’ll soon begin.” She turned back to Niall and said, “I agree. Do as you will.”

Gillian spent her time trying not to be too obvious in her search for Maeve. Beautiful as the Sith was, she did not think she could look without staring—and Maeve had a wicked enough streak that stares could lead to a scandal. Gillian was torn between wanting to see her again and announcing to the village her intentions of rushing back to the City. The Fair Folk could be very direct when it came to their wants, and this lovely lass wanted her. She felt a small ball of anxiety within her and suddenly realized Niall was speaking to them.

“Before you got here I was saying to Kenna you both look as if you should be on a stage. As Gillian knows, part of what we do at the Fest is to act out some of the older stories. We’d like the two of you to play the roles of Knight and Squire.” Gillian looked down into her lap and McKay’s mind raced about with the thought of having to act. Modeling was just hitting the right pose and holding it. Acting was something else entirely and he had little interest in it.

“Do I need to memorize lines?”

“Nay,” Kenna smiled. “We’ll provide the narration. You’ll just need to listen and mirror what we say. It should come as no surprise that as the Knight you’ll be using a sword.” Now McKay looked worried.

Gillian recognized the touch of fear in the American’s eyes. “Do you remember our talking about Morris Dancing? What do you be remembering most about the vids you said you saw on-line?”

“They kept jumping and trying to hit each other with sticks. They wore a lot of flowers and bright colors.”

“Aye,” she said. “But they act like children who copy what they saw their elders doing. In the full ceremony, the dancers don’t just hop around. They’re tracing certain patterns as they move. You’ll not be holding a stick, but a sword. It’s all symbolic. You’ll just need to match each strike you’ll be given with your own sword. You’ll catch each cuff of the sword four times and then you’ll pretend to be killed.”

“This isn’t sounding very festive.”

“This is all about renewing the fecundity of the World,” she said. “It was never about dancing around with sticks in silly clothes and then beggin’ for coins. The Swords are the male symbol. When the Knight is killed then the Lady comes forth and revives him with a magic potion from a sacred cup that represents the feminine. Then you’ll get up and take a bow. This is a harvest festival and now that the crops are gathered and the food animals slaughtered, the Fest begins a new year of fertility so the World turns again and all is renewed.”

Niall nodded. He thought, “But ‘tis a sad truth the ceremony no longer seems to revitalize our poor world, but only emphasizes its tarnish.” In an effort to try something new, since their old ways weren’t working, he had asked his mother permission to allow McKay and Gillian to take on the role of Knight and Squire. She had hesitated a moment on the idea of a woman portraying the Squire, but he reminded her Gillian was a woman of a special sort and it was the Twenty-First Century.

Aloud he added, “Just follow my lead, McKay. If it helps you to think of it as a dance then that’s fine. Watch when I come at you slowly with my sword and then you’ll take the other one of the ceremony and meet my every blow until the fourth one. Then you’ll let yours be knocked out of your hands and I’ll pretend to pierce you.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s supposed to symbolize,” McKay thought.

Throughout the dinner McKay continued to receive helpful tips and suggestions to improve his upcoming performance. Aunt Agnes and her husband came by with Riley to show their respect to Niall and Kenna as they took their own seats at another table.

As they finished with dessert and strong coffee, Niall invited McKay to join him in the garden to take a few minutes to practice their sword fight.  McKay inhaled deeply, enjoying the mixture of scents in the pleasant darkness. The moon had not yet risen. Niall told him he’d be right back with the swords.

The Pooka watched all this in the form of a Raven again. When Niall went back inside the castle and McKay bent down to look more closely at some of the plants, Maeve duplicated Niall’s voice and called out: “Mount the horse, Sir Knight.”

McKay stood up and a black horse stepped in front of him. “Well, aren’t you beautiful?” He scratched the stallion’s ear with his strong hand. The Pooka pushed back at him affectionately. The animal bowed his head and then looked at his back, signaling his intent. “So you want me up there with no saddle? I had to do an ad campaign for Pendleton where I spent three days on horseback, just sitting on a blanket. I can do this.” He put his hands on the stallion’s back and pushed down, judging the horse’s reaction. Satisfied he gracefully jumped up, skillfully balancing himself as he swung one leg across the animal’s back.

“Mortals are so predictable,” the Pooka thought. He took off at full gallop while McKay yelled and tried to hold on as tightly as he could to the thick mane in front of him.

“Do you prefer being ridden or do you prefer to be the one who barebacks?” Rory asked.

“What are you?” McKay asked, “A werehorse?”

“No!” McKay heard Niall yelling behind him. He turned and saw the taller man lift up a sword in both of his hands and strike them together to form a cross. When he did a purple bolt of lightning shot forth from the center of the cross. It struck the black horse, surrounding the Pooka and his rider. McKay’s vision was distorted from the weird energy. Everything he saw had a violet glow and he felt himself leaving the ground.

The horse said something McKay didn’t recognize and suddenly the purplish haze was gone and they were both falling back down to the earth. Before they struck the ground, McKay felt a man’s torso between his legs and then he was on top of the stranger.

Rory laughed. “Oh, my high and mighty Laird of the Manor,” he said sarcastically. “You told me not to harm Gillian but you said nothing about this one.”

“Were you taking him to ride into the river to drown him?” Niall was walking slowly towards them, still holding both swords. Purple sparks danced on their tips and McKay could feel the anger rolling off of the tall man.

“You listen to too many fairy tales,” Rory laughed softly, now kneeling behind McKay and placing his hands on the wide shoulders of the American. “I will admit I may have given a much needed bath to mortals in past days.” He leaned forward so his cheek was touching McKay’s. “But I’d never harm this one. He’s too pretty.” Rory stood up, keeping one hand possessively on McKay’s shoulder. “Just remember this—there were many things I could have done but I chose not to do. For once praise me for my restraint.”

“And what Pooka ever showed restraint?” By now the Sith was close enough to reach out and touch McKay. “Did he hurt you?”

“I didn’t fall very far. Besides, once you’ve been snarled at by a werewolf out of his mind in pain, a horse doesn’t exactly strike terror in your heart. It was like being attacked by a carousel. Hashtag yawn,” he smiled.

“It’s always a wolf for you Americans, isn’t it?” Rory said in anger. Suddenly he was a truly terrifying werewolf that towered over the human and the Sith. His eyes were red flames and his fangs looked like they could rip apart steel. McKay crawled back just as the creature clawed at him.

“Yeah,” said McKay. “That’s what I’m talking about. Who gets scared of a horse these days? Hey, can you do a unicorn? Mahihkan said of all the Supernaturals humans know about the one that doesn’t exist is a unicorn. Can you turn into something that doesn’t exist?”

The Pooka pulled back and looked confused. This was so not the way mortals reacted to a Pooka when he was actually in the act of threatening one.

“Enough!” Niall said. He lifted the sword in his left hand and the purple spat out again, hitting the Pooka in his chest. The werewolf imploded and Rory stood before them.

“He’s still alive.” Rory said. “Why don’t you concentrate on celebrating that fact.” He jumped up and a Raven flew away.

“Wow,” McKay said, “And I thought I had a psychotic ex.” Standing up he added, “Am I safe to assume this wasn’t part of the rehearsal?”

“You seem to be taking this rather well,” Niall frowned, watching the Pooka disappear in the distance.

“I was dating a Loup-Garou before I came to Scotland. There was a lot of messiness involving two separate werewolf packs.” He walked towards Niall. “I haven’t seen a Supernatural who can become a horse as well as a bird. What do you call him?”

“Rory,” Niall said, holding both swords in one hand and then hugging the American tight. He let the fear he had been feeling go and filled himself with the mortal’s warmth. “But to answer what you were really asking? He’s a shape-shifter. He can take on any form. He can be fire or lightning, male or female—and any animal you can imagine. An old game his kind used to play was to imitate someone else’s voice, urging a traveler to follow him and get lost in the woods.”

“Then it must have been his voice pretending to be you and urging me to ride the horse.” Niall nodded.

McKay didn’t say anything for a moment. He was watching Niall carefully while his mind was spinning wildly around what Rory would be like in bed. He suspected Niall could put up with a whole lot of crazy for the options he must have provided. “He’s a Pooka,” the Sith continued. “In England they call him Puck or Robin Goodfellow.”

“And you?”

Niall handed him one of the swords and bowed slightly. “I am of the Daoine Sith.” He looked up at McKay and sighed, realizing the American had never heard of the Sith. “Great,” he thought. “I yell at the others for being too open and risking a visit from an Enforcer and here I am telling a mortal The Secret.”

“A Fairy Prince?” McKay asked in awe.

“Close enough,” Niall answered.

“And this is where you remind me if I publically acknowledge The Secret then the big bad Enforcers will come and use my bones to pick their teeth?”

“North American Werewolves and Garous—loose-lipped all,” Niall muttered. “If an Enforcer comes for you there won’t be enough of your bones to use—even as a toothpick.”

McKay was slowly swinging the great sword, finding it so heavy he needed to use both hands. “What happened to the purple sparks that were on it?”

“That comes from my own self—not the sword.”  He held up his hand and a small violet fire danced in his palm. Then it was gone and the two of them were in the dark. “Forget the Pooka. After that performance I don’t think we’ll need the practice.” He put his arm around McKay’s shoulders and walked him back to the castle.

Once inside the Great Hall, Kenna approached McKay, holding a silver helm. She gently placed it on his head. “My son was right,” she said proudly. “Perfection. Remember to hold the claymore with both hands.” Kenna traced the designs on the blade. “The name of the sword is Easc. It’s our word here for Moon.”

“And the name of the one Niall carries?”

“Grian,” she smiled. “It means the Sun.”  She led him up to a stage that had been set up in front of the castle where Niall, Gillian (now in a kilt) and a handful of others were waiting. They all wore some type of headdress, but Naill wore an actual crown and handed a slightly smaller matching one to Kenna.

It all seemed unreal to McKay and as he stepped next to Gillian he kept thinking of purple lightning and the mocking Pooka. “You look good,” he told her.

“I never thought I’d be paraded about in my own village as a Drag King,” she laughed. “I’m not sure if this is some public approval of who I am, but I’m willing to accept it as such.” Suddenly drummers and pipers began and the performers moved to their places.

McKay looked out at the crowd waiting excitedly in front of him. At some point someone had lit gas lamps so there were flickering lights wherever he looked. The lighting gave everything a surreal atmosphere, glittering off the silver metal of the crowns and other ornaments the various performers wore. He felt he and the others were play-acting, but Niall and Kenna wore reality.

He became caught up in the action around him. Niall and Kenna took turns narrating, matching their own timing to that of the players, evidence of their long experience. In what seemed to be the space of a single song, Kenna called out in a clear voice, describing the fight of the Easc and the Grian.

Niall seemed to be dancing. Then it was as if he stopped dancing and became the dance. McKay was so fascinated he almost forgot to lift his own sword when Niall swung at him. He reacted automatically and moved to block the blade that was suddenly in his face. The weight of his own sword caused him to spin as if he were also dancing.

When he turned back to face Niall, the Sun sword met his with a loud clang and the American’s hands stung with the vibration. He understood the appeal of doing this with sticks. He had a sudden respect for the Morris Dancers.

The drummers sped up the beat and McKay and Niall simultaneously lifted the broadswords, striking their tips above their heads. The pipers began a staccato rhythm and the sound of the fourth blow of swords drowned out the music. McKay’s sword was knocked out of his hands and the American fell slowly and gracefully to his knees before the Sith. He was aware of the music again as Niall’s sword pushed slowly between his arm and chest, appearing to the audience as if McKay had been stabbed. The Sith pulled away and McKay dropped back on the floor of the stage, now officially dead.

Niall took over the narration and Kenna stepped forward with a silver goblet that sparkled in the light of the gas lamps. From McKay’s perspective she seemed to be holding liquid light. Gillian was beside him and keening.  As the Lady, Kenna knelt beside him and lifted him up enough to place his head on her lap. She touched the goblet to his lips and he was suddenly sipping something he didn’t recognize. It seemed halfway between air and icy liquid. Then everything went dark for him.

When he opened his eyes he was met with silence and a horrified look in Kenna’s eyes. To her side, Gillian’s mouth was open and she seemed terrified. He tried to sit up and felt so dizzy he stopped moving.

To his right McKay saw an enormous black eagle fall so heavily it cracked the wooden stage. As he watched the bird, its outline wavered and a nude woman with long black hair stood before them.  She started screaming, “Get out of my head, yuh ancient gash!”

“Get ye gone!” Niall yelled with more than his voice. His command struck the humans and most began to run back to their homes. The Sith glared at the moaning Pooka and took McKay’s face in his hands. “Are you back with us now?”

“What happened? I passed out after she gave me whatever was in the silver cup.”

“Nay, it had nothing to do with that. One of the ancestors began to speak through you. You called out to us in the Sith tongue to warn us of the stone, whatever the stone might be.”

The Pooka was now on all fours, writhing. She cried out and began quickly speaking in words unfamiliar to McKay. Gillian squeezed his hand and he could feel her trembling.

“And now this one,” Niall looked at Kenna. “If they’re going to do this, why through the mortal and a Pooka?” His mother shook her head. He glanced at McKay and said, “The Pooka speaks for yet another of our auld kith and ken. She tells us the stone has returned. She admits freely to being the Leannan Sith of a mortal named Logan.” Then the Pooka screamed and became molten light that bubbled across the stage, taking on a dozen shapes and sizes in the space of a breath. The light was extinguished and Maeve’s nude and unconscious body remained.

Kenna stood. She seemed to keep standing, looking taller and more powerful as McKay watched. “I Summon the Sith,” she said. She didn’t raise her voice but McKay experienced the sound as a physical wave that filled him and left him dizzy once more. Then Kenna seemed herself again and was looking at Niall. “They speak before the Drawing Down the Moon. If these two are pushing through then let’s use the moon to help them.”

“If she were going to speak, why pick the Pooka instead of you?” Niall looked more confused than angry.

“And why did Bonnie Laird Jamie use the mouth of a mortal?” Her eyes met McKay’s. “Unless he’s not as mortal as he seems?” Kenna stretched out her hands and a lavender light surrounded her fingers and then danced around the American. It felt warm to him but not uncomfortable. “Mortal to the core,” she said. “I understand none of this, but answers shall I have if I have to liquefy bones.”

“Gillian,” Niall said, “Bring Riley back with you. With a Pooka falling from the sky things are even more out of balance. Silence will not serve us for what we need to do. Go. The Sith are on their way and you and Riley will join us in the back garden.” She looked up at McKay, then bowed to Niall and took off at a run for her family’s home.

Kenna touched the still unconscious Pooka. There was a line of blood on her forehead from when she struck the stage. As the Sith watched, the blood was absorbed back into Maeve’s skin. She opened her eyes and stared icily at Kenna. “You said I had all the Power of a village hedge witch,” she hissed. “I can feel how little Power you hold. If you can, keep the voices of your ancestors out of my head or you’ll see how far a Pooka is from any mortal or Sith you’ve known.”

“Beware who you threaten,” Kenna said flatly. McKay tentatively tried to stand and felt Niall’s strong arms supporting him. They followed Kenna to the back garden. Maeve came last, once more in the shape of a black wolf.

“This would be done as part of the ceremonies tonight, but it’s rare a mortal is allowed to join us,” he told McKay. “But if in these strange times our Dead seek to speak through you and a Pooka, I’m willing to listen. Let them also have the option of Gillian and Riley. Riley is the oldest of the mortals. Maybe it’s time for the Sith to hear what history your kind have been holding.”

A handful of Sith McKay didn’t know were waiting for them. Some were holding rowan wands and others had an assortment of various weapons. McKay wasn’t sure why they were so heavily armed. “Are you expecting a fight?” he asked.

“Best to be prepared,” Niall answered. “Some are holding Power Objects that are in the form of a sword of spear. We may not need them as weapons but as a focus for what we hold within us.” As he spoke, more Sith emerged from the castle and they looked as if they were shining. McKay realized how accurate the term Fair Folk was to describe them.

A moment later Gillian had returned, her arm linked with Riley’s. Both looked worried. “Relax,” Kenna told them. “You are here as our welcome guests. I give you my word the three of you,” she held the eyes of Riley, then Gillian, and finally McKay, “are under my protection. We ask you to speak freely because you might know something we need. I’m one of the older ones among us and I’ve never been told of a night like this one where our Dead are speaking through the non-Sith.”

“Do you know what Drawing Down the Moon is about?” Niall waited for Riley to answer.

“Aye,” he said. His voice was firm, like that of a much younger man. “We’ll sometimes do it when we have our own privacy. It’s a ceremony that allows the sacred to speak through a host. It’s usually the Lady or the Lord.”

“Lady or Lord?” McKay repeated.

“Those are terms of respect,” Gillian said softly. “We learned to use such words whenever the Church had ears. Before the Christians came, we were talking about the Lord or Lady of the Forest.” She looked at Kenna and then back at McKay. “The Moon is calling those that are as beyond the Sith as the Sith are beyond humans.”

“But as you’ve already seen so far,” Kenna added, “sometimes the Dead will use a host in times of great danger or need.”

“Speak honestly,” Niall said to Riley. “Did you understand what McKay or the Pooka were saying?”

“A word here or there,” Riley said. “But we were never taught the old tongue of the Daoine Sith.”

“The Pooka claimed to be a Leannan Sith to a mortal named Logan. It’s a common enough name. Kenna glanced at the black wolf. “Do you see a connection?”

Gillian stepped closer to McKay and handed him his Grandfather’s journal. She then returned to Riley’s side.

“I may have some idea,” he said. “I told you I was retracing the steps my grandfather Logan McKay took from Scotland to the United States. This is his personal journal but there are sections that Gillian and I don’t recognize. She says it isn’t written in Gaelic. It certainly isn’t written in English.”

Niall took the leather covered book and handed it to Kenna without comment. She began flipping through the pages. A variety of emotions spread across her beautiful face. Mostly she was frowning. After a few minutes she closed it and looked at her son. “It’s true,” she said. “These are the writings of Logan McKay and he’s using the tongue taught to him by one of our own.”

“Logan McKay,” Riley said. “A name I’ve not heard in many a year.” Now all eyes, human and non-human were on him. “When I was older than this one is now,” he pointed to the American, “it was a time of great scandal. It was said one of our own had found his way to a Sith’s bed. If the stories are to be believed he stole a jewel of great price and broke her heart. He escaped from the village and was never seen again.” Riley slumped slightly against Gillian. “She died before Logan’s tracks were cold.”

“My Grandfather was no thief,” McKay said in anger. “He was the most honest man I’ve ever known. You must be mistaken.”

Kenna ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken. “Fenella was her name,” she said. “But there was no missing jewel.”

“Fenella,” Niall repeated. “There was a time when a number of us searched for Logan McKay. We had many questions to ask him about her. She died by magic and none of us had seen anything quite like it. That’s why we wanted Logan back.” He looked at the American. “And so he ended up in the States. An ocean away. So many decades it’s been I didn’t make the connection with you.” He touched McKay’s face.

“We’ll Call her,” Kenna said. “Fenella spoke of a stone when she was riding the Pooka. Maybe that’s what the mortals thought was a jewel.”

“There was a stone,” McKay said, “but when I showed it to a Master of Stonework he told me it didn’t make sense to him—that it was empty of any sort of magic or spirituality.” He pulled the small deerskin bag he had around his neck from where it was hiding beneath his shirt the way Logan had done in the hospital. He removed the carved stone and showed it to Kenna and Niall. Both held up their left hands, their palms flat. After a moment both dropped their hands.

“It’s as if there’s nothing there,” she said.

“Aye,” Niall added, “if I weren’t looking at it I would not even have noticed it.  I’ve known nothing like this before.”

“It’s not among the list of Objects of Power we guard,” Kenna concluded. “We’re not known for such small stones. We’ve always preferred cairns and monoliths.” McKay placed it back in the leather pouch and let it fall back beneath his shirt.

“The Moon is rising,” Riley said softly, looking to the sky. “We should begin.”

Kenna nodded and directed those around her to form a circle. The Pooka remained a wolf. A very bored looking wolf. Niall moved the mortals to three of the cardinal directions while Kenna stood on the Eastern point.  She stood tall and crossed her arms above her breasts. She began to speak in the old language and McKay looked at Niall.

The tall Sith nodded and began to translate for the three mortals. “Lady of the Moonlight, Mother of the Sky, we honor you. Your name has been sung throughout the ages and in all lands. You who are constant but always changing. You are the ever-becoming. We ask you to shine your wisdom and love upon us. We open our hearts to you.” Kenna then moved her feet apart while she raised up her arms. The pale purple light she had used before shone from her hands. “If all goes well,” he added softly, “she’ll channel the goddess.”

The flame-like purple around her intensified. Then she fell back as if hit and twin beams of her violet light struck McKay and the Pooka. As Kenna fell to her knees the other two were suddenly floating a few inches above the earth, held by the eldritch Power. As she rose, Maeve regained her human form as she shouted, “Shite!” before she began to scream.

Maeve opened her eyes and looked peaceful. She began to speak quickly. Gillian heard her say “Fenella,” but that was the only word she recognized. She tried to catch Niall’s eye, but he was focused on McKay. He said something and McKay—or the one who rode him, nodded and answered back.

Maeve frowned and looked around her. Raging, she took on the form of the Wulver and roared so loudly both Gillian and Riley covered their ears. There was a flash of white light and Maeve dropped to the ground. “I warned you to stay out of me! I’ll nae have your Dead use me this way!”

McKay’s voice rang out harshly. He lifted his hands and there was a crash of thunder followed by a bolt of lightning that struck the Pooka.

“Welcome back, Bonnie Laird Jamie, “Gillian whispered.

Maeve rose to her feet, apparently unharmed but showing more respect than Niall had seen from her. She held her head high and said, “I’ll agree to channel your Dead, but by the Goddess Herself I’ll not be ridden as a horse when it’s not my own choosing. Let your Fenella speak through me but I’ll stay myself, as I have always stayed myself no matter what form I wear. That’s the deal I offer and I shall not negotiate.”

McKay laughed and said something that brought laughter from the surrounding Sith.

Maeve looked to her left side as if she were listening. “She says she was worried the gifts of the Daoine Sith were in decline. She warned the others but they dismissed her, saying she was too young to understand the cycles of Power.” Maeve stopped and glanced up at McKay who was still floating as purple light flickered around him. “She sought to focus the Power of your people to intensify it. No one had shown her how to use stones but she opened her heart to shape the stone the American showed us.” Once again she hesitated as if she were listening. “In the dark of the moon—“Maeve frowned. “Bloody tool,” the Pooka said, “you should have done it on a full moon.”

McKay’s said a single word and Maeve sneered at him. “Yeah, and whose fault is it young ones like Fenella don’t know how to cast a spell,” then she looked at Kenna, “any better than a village hedge witch? You may be Master of Storms and Lightning but did you bother to teach what you know to any of these?” she spread out her arms to include everyone present. She saw the pain in McKay’s eyes. “This is why I hate your kind. It’s always about politics and holding authority. Let me guess—you kept your secrets to protect your precious position and then it was too late to pass that knowledge on when death came for you at Glenshiel. Yeh bloody tool—you don’t be judging each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you be planting. She was trying to help you but the casting was ruined. I don’t need her to tell me that. Her meddling had the opposite effect. It became a sinkhole for the Power of the Sith, draining it away.”

Maeve stopped, listening again. “She tried to block the leaching but she didn’t know how and she was alone.” Maeve shook her head and spat on the ground in front of her. “She poured her own heart into the stone to slow its absorption. In doing so she sealed her own doom.” She looked up at McKay. “She laid a geas upon your grandfather. With the little strength she had left she put this obligation upon him: If you love me, then you must leave now with the stone. I’ve not been able to stop what it is doing. You must take it so far away it cannae keep eating away at our strength. I’ve tried my best but it will be at least two generations before what I’ve done is exhausted and it can be returned. Go, Logan McKay. Promise me you’ll return the stone when the time is right. Maeve abruptly stopped and crossed her arms above her chest. “And then there’s a lot of blather about their eternal love. It’s bad enough I have to hear it without being forced to repeat it.”

McKay pulled the stone from the bag and held up his hands, palms facing each other with the triskale carving between them.  He pulled his palms apart and the object floated suspended. He frowned and said something. Lightning crackled around the stone. He did this again and the stone fell heavily and bounced on the earth.

“Oh, high and mighty Masters of Nothing,” Maeve said scornfully. “So comfortable you’ve been for all these centuries with your showy fireworks and light shows.” She stepped forward and looked up at McKay. “You’re no more skilled than your silly Fenella. Look at me,” she said, turning in a circle to glare at everyone present. “You think I’m less than you because I don’t play with your glamour. But I’m a Pooka. Who knows change better than I?” She reached down and picked up the cold stone. “And who knows stones better than I? You’ve both touched it and felt nothing. I hold it and feel its potential.” She looked around and found Gillian. “Hurry,” she said, “before the Moon moves any further. Go to my room and open the suitcase beneath the bed. You’ll find a hard and round container. Bring that to me.” The human ran off without questioning.

“And you,” Maeve said to McKay. “I’ve no need of you. Give me back McKay so he can be a stand-in for his grandfather. Go back to where you belong and take Fenella with you. If you want to be traipsing around the earth your lot should wait for Samhain like the rest of the Dead.”

McKay frowned and nodded. The purple glow around him faded and he floated gently down. “Wow,” he said quietly. “That was a rush.”

“Do you remember anything after you were hit by the light?” Niall touched him gently and protectively on the shoulder.

“I felt as if I was looking over his shoulder, but yes—I was awake this time. I don’t know how to explain it—I couldn’t recognize the words he was using, but I understand their meaning. I also felt his emotions. He devoted himself to the protection of his people which is why he returned. There’s a time of Change and he wanted to make certain it benefits all of you—all of us.”

Gillian returned with the container and presented it to Maeve. She opened it and let the glittering diamonds spill into her hands. “You owe me,” she said, looking up at Kenna. “I’ll return one day to claim my price.” Not waiting for a response she quickly placed the gems in a circle.

“To me,” she said to McKay. “Place your wee stone in the center of what I’ve done. You’ll assist me with the falloir—the closing of the circle of Power. This is what your silly goose of a girl failed to do and why the spell was not contained.” When McKay placed the stone into the midst of the diamonds, Maeve reached out and laced her fingers through those of McKay. She started to sing and a moment later the diamonds began to glow—a harsh light that made Gillian’s and Riley’s eyes water.

Maeve continued to sing and she began to shine like the gems. The light extended to include McKay and the white-hot shining took on the shape of a cone. She cried out and there was a flash and an ugly sound like glass breaking. Suddenly everyone felt blind as the brightness was extinguished and it took a moment to adjust to the moonlight. Fenella’s stone glowed softly but the diamonds surrounding it were blackened and smoking. “And I worked so hard for you, my pretties,” she sighed, touching one with her bare toe. “Ah, well. ‘Tis what I get for running away for a holiday with a Sith.”

She picked up the stone and tossed it to Kenna. “So—no more Power than a village hedge witch. Do you dare to still claim that? I’ve done what your precious Fenella could not do. Because of me you’ve one more Object of Power. Bonnie Laird James can go back to haunting Glenshiel and stay out of this pretty American head.” She pulled away from McKay.

“And just like that, our people’s vitality is restored?” Niall stepped between McKay and the Pooka.

“For the sake of the Goddess,” Maeve said. “Where did you learn about magic? Disney? It took years to drain away your strength and it will take years to replenish it but at least now there’s nothing blocking it. There’s been a restoration to harmony but I didn’t tie it up in a bow for you. Things are just returning to where they were before Fenella destroyed the balance and paid with her life.”

Kenna was letting purple fire play among the carving of the stone. Satisfied she let the flames sink into the design. “We are in your debt,” she said unhappily.

“Aye,” Maeve smiled cruelly. “That yeh are.” Then she turned back to Gillian. “Gather the ruined diamonds. Maybe one day I’ll discover a use for them. Then we’ve a wild evening planned. I’ve had enough of Sith shenanigans for many a year. Meet me in our bedroom.” She stretched out her arms and a black raven was flying towards the castle.

Gillian excused herself the moment she lost sight of the raven, telling Riley she would see him again in the 'morn. As she placed the last of the ruined diamonds into their container she noticed McKay had vanished and, from the way his eyes had been glued to the other Sith, Niall, she had excellent thoughts as to where. “Best pleasure and luck,” she wished to herself. “That is, for both of us.”

She reached Maeve's door and did not have to knock. It swung open on its hinges before her. “Come in,” Maeve said. “Quickly. I've suffered enough from the waiting.”

Gillian obeyed and pushed the door shut behind her. The Pooka was indeed ready for her. She reclined on her bed in the nude. Gillian considered herself worldly, at least for these parts, but the sight ahead left her speechless. Dark hair, pale skin, and full breasts with hard and pink little nipples. Maeve was as beautiful a woman as she had ever seen—and Gillian had seen aplenty.

Maeve stood and walked over. She wound her hand around Gillian's head and grasped a bundle of hair. The Pooka's touch was like fire. It travelled all through Gillian's body and settled into her sex. Their lips touched. They kissed like they were starving. Maeve's lips were soft and sweet. Gillian let out a moan. Her hands travelled up to the Pooka’s bare breasts. She squeezed the pink little nipples.

“I want you.” Maeve's mouth moved down her neck, little bites on her shoulder. “Let me see your body.”

Gillian removed the Squire’s outfit she had been wearing, but did it slowly. The Pooka’s kisses and bites distracted her, going to steadily more wicked places. Maeve enjoyed the torment and teased her. “Having trouble, lass? Do you need me to undress you?”

Gillian nodded and Maeve ripped off the cloth. It fluttered down to the floor. There was no barrier between them and their bodies met, soft on soft, the whole of their skin pressed together. “Oh,” Gillian moaned. “Oh, I need to taste you.”

She ran her mouth down, touching the hollow of Maeve's collarbone, touching her nipples, licking the tender flesh of her belly and down—down--down. She reached the tight curls that covered Maeve's sex and was about to dip in to her sweet cleft, when the other woman pulled her back up to standing.

“You would drink and leave me with nothing?” Maeve shook her head. “I'm starved for a taste of my own.” She pushed Gillian onto the bed and crawled over, so each woman's mouth faced the other one's sex. The Pooka dripped wet with desire. Gillian grabbed Maeve's hips and pulled down until Maeve's sex filled her mouth. Gillian licked. Maeve shuddered. “Yes, you feel good.” She sighed. “Oh, you know what you're doing.”

Gillian groaned her response. The Pooka tasted so good. She felt Maeve's folds and wants with her tongue, felt the other woman respond.

Maeve bent and Gillian felt the gentle push of her breath, the not-so-gentle caress of her tongue. Soon both were gasping and writhing on the bed as waves of pleasure broke over their bodies. She closed her eyes in sheer pleasure.

Chapter Nine

“May I make you a similar offer?” Niall whispered into McKay’s ear as he watched Maeve vanish in her raven form. “Circles turn to make things right. The geas placed on your family has been lifted and you’re now free to make your own decisions. Fenella took your grandfather into her bed and her heart. Perhaps the generations will repeat themselves.”

“The Sith have quite a courtship practice. I’ve never been possessed by someone from the 18th century before.”

“I promise we’ll do things far more mundane in the future.”

“I’ve discovered a little magic goes a long way.”

“We’ll see,” Niall said, leading the American back into the castle. “You can’t do what you’ve just done and not be changed by it. I watched you call lightning from the sky itself and blacken a Pooka. Jamie may have guided your hand but you were the one who did it. I told you the magic I hold is not within the sword—it is within me and the sword was only to help focus what I can do. Do you realize when you called the lightning the only thing you were holding was your intention? You’ve quite a resume going.”

“I'll be gentler with you,” McKay said. “You won’t be struck by lightning--I promise.”

They reached Niall's room hand in hand, hardly waiting for the door to be shut before exchanging gentle exploratory kisses. McKay ran his hands over Niall's wide shoulders. “I expected an adventure—but I didn't think to find my pot of gold at the end.”

“Wrong country,” Niall laughed. “But don't worry: I'll show you a true Scotsman's treasures and you'll forget all about Irish gold.”

McKay kissed him again. He enjoyed the feel of Niall's stubble, of the other man's lips. McKay let his hands run down and down and to Niall's kilt. His lover wore it the traditional way, that is, commando. He grasped Niall's thighs and watched him shudder. He had fabulous legs. McKay flipped the kilt up to see the fullness of them—and Niall's happy erection.

McKay massaged up until he cupped the outside of Niall's scrotum. He took the sack in his hands and gently rolled his balls. “Oh, McKay,” Niall whispered. “Oh yes, McKay.”

He took those exclamations as a good sign and kept going, keeping one hand on Niall's balls and grasping his shaft with the other. He stroked Niall, with firm even pressure. When McKay reached the top he ran his palm over the tip. Niall shuddered. “Let me feel you,” he begged. “I want to be in you.”

McKay nodded. He took off his shirt and his fly plaid, everything but the kilt. Niall followed suit. Both men stood there, shirtless, sockless, and kilted, grinning wide as they could at each other. Niall lay on the bed. McKay climbed onto him, giving little kisses all over. He positioned himself over Niall's cock, which bucked up, impatient.

McKay felt Niall's finger in his hole, warming him up. It didn't take long. He pushed Niall's hand away and lowered himself onto Niall's ready member. He gasped as the very tip slid in and kept going. Soon Niall's cock filled his bum and the sensation was exquisite. McKay rocked gently at first, then faster and faster. He jerked himself off until they were both at the edge, wanting, happy, tormented. McKay came first. His cum splashed up Niall's chest and belly. That was what sent Niall past the edge. McKay felt Niall finish inside him.

They collapsed next to each other on the bed. McKay wrapped his arms around Niall. He buried his face in his back. He was relaxed and, after his wild day, exhausted. He closed his eyes. Niall squeezed his arm.

He started to drift off into sleep. The dreams started right away. He saw a beautiful woman, what Niall would look like as a lady. A voice said, “Fenella.” It seemed to come from his mouth.

“Jaimie,” she answered—or didn't. Niall said the word. McKay realized that he wasn't dreaming. “Jaimie,” Niall repeated. “I have missed you greatly.”

McKay saw the shadow of the beautiful woman in Niall—but he saw Niall too. Niall's eyes were wide. In his own deeper voice Niall said, “I can feel her.”

“Then you know?” asked McKay. “Jamie and Fenella were husband and wife?”

“My poor heart broke when I lost my bonnie Jamie at Glenshiel when he sacrificed himself to save us all,” she said through Niall. “I thought I would be alone forever until I met Logan. He was like a gentle rain that fell upon parched land. He woke me up to life again. I tried to be like Jaime but-- I failed.”

McKay was silent for a moment, trying to see through so many, many years. “Ah, Fenella—you did what you did to save us. And I could not read my grandfather’s journal without knowing from every page how much Logan loved you.” McKay watched a tear fall down Niall’s cheek. McKay held him to comfort Fenella—and himself.

“Logan’s in heaven now, so he could not return like Jaime,” Niall said softly. “I felt him when he passed the geas and stone on to you and he was finally free.” Niall turned his head to look at McKay, but it was Fenella who looked out of his eyes.

“Jaime’s father was mortal but his mother was Daoine Sith. Logan and I are descended from his mortal side which is why Kenna could find nothing of the Sith in me.” He laughed gently. “She’d get a different reading now.”

“How many others have been blessed by the love of Bonnie Laird Jamie and Logan McKay?” Niall stepped away and let Fenella come closer into the world. “I never thought I’d be with you again, my Jaime. I have never stopped loving you.”

McKay could feel his ancestor too. Laird Jaimie's power coursed through his body. Master of Lightning and Storms indeed. The electricity crackled through him. “And I you,” Jaimie said. McKay felt himself climb over Niall. He was hard again, so achingly hard it was painful. A voice inside McKay's head—Jaimie's voice—pleaded for him to allow a final goodbye with his lady. McKay nodded. He would grant his ancestor that. Niall, it seemed, had the same conversation. He saw the lady take over behind his lover's eyes. He felt Niall's fresh erection.

Jaimie/McKay kissed Niall's mouth. Tenderly, together, they entered Niall and Fenella's ready body. The sheer amount of sensation McKay felt was overwhelming. He had all the feeling for two people. He had never felt anything like it.

Jaimie released—he came, but he also loosened his hold. McKay was wholly himself—and yet, there was something extra. His great-grandfather's power remained. McKay had the sense that, if he wanted, he could easily master the storms. But first he was content to spend a lifetime mastering the Sith beside him.

<< >>

I am a Native American Storyteller. Some of our Stories are best told by day. Others are best told by night. Please visit me at my website: www.SkyeEagleday.blogspot.com.  You can also sign up for my newsletter http://eepurl.com/T3F-j

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Midnight Hunt

Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood

Vampire Chronicles

(Approximately 85,000 words)

Arial Burnz

Driven by the desire to meet the true love she’s experienced in her dreams, Monika Konrads uses her magickal skills to weave a love spell during the waxing of the moon. As if in response, a strangely familiar and handsome Scotsman is seeking to settle in their village. But the werewolf stalking Monika has other ideas about who her love interest should be.

Broderick MacDougal is drawn to the powerful witch by a familiar force, and makes the chestnut-haired wise woman his next pursuit to unravel the mystery of why she reminds him so much of his late wife, Davina. However, there are other supernatural forces surrounding her, exposing Rick to a darker side of this deal he made for immortality...and this enchanting nymph may be his only salvation.

Monika’s quest to find a cure for the werewolf curse causes a chain of events that starts a witch hunt, dooming both her and Broderick to the fiery stake of judgment. And through these trials, they learn the Church has a new ally who is hunting down the members of the Army of Light.

Reader Advisory: This story contains some explicit love scenes, described using graphic and direct language.

Midnight Hunt

Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood

Vampire Chronicles

by

Arial Burnz

ORIGINAL EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Mystical Press

Midnight Hunt: Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles

Copyright © 2013 by G.C. Henderson writing as Arial Burnz

Cover Design by Arial Burnz

Original Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to ArialBurnz.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

* * * * *

This ebook is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons—living, magickal, dead or undead—places, events or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Though there are actual historical events used in this book, they are for backdrop purposes only and may contain some artistic license.

Dedication

To all those who have fought life-threatening illnesses.

You are the real heroes and heroines of the world.

R.I.P.

Jeanette DiCosola

April 4, 1924—October 10, 2010

I love you, Grandma.

* * * * *

Acknowledgments

I could not write my books without my husband, DeWayne. He brainstorms all my stories with me, puts up with my moodiness over my characters, my crazy plot twists and turns, and gives me wonderful suggestions and ideas, which help take my stories in directions I never would have imagined. Together, we’re a great writing team!

Additionally, Broderick MacDougal would not be the wonderful character he is without DeWayne, who has given Rick his romantic streak, the unquenchable desire he has for his woman, or the fierce heart that beats in his chest. Thank you, my darling, for being a living example of the perfect man.

I want to thank all my patient fans! I pushed the date out on this book a couple of times…and you have all been so gracious and forgiving. I hope I’ve finally got the hang of publishing and there will be no more broken promises. What is a book if there is no one to read it? I would not be an author without my readers. I adore you all!

Thank you, thank you, thank you to my beta readers—M. Sembera, Kathy Jund, Rebecca Halliwell, Savannah Storm and Janice Henderson. You really came through for me on this last-minute feedback, ladies, and were such a huge help! I’m lucky to have you girls on my team!! Mwah!

A special ‘thank you’ goes out to AJ Nuest, who has been such a trooper through this whole experience. I put a lot of undue pressure on her to help me finish this book, which was actually supposed to be done over three months ago. If I had finished it when I promised, she would have had more time to edit. Any mistakes in this book are MINE and I cannot fault AJ at all. Unless the mistakes in this book are so unbearable as to interfere with the reading experience, I will probably just let some things go and move on with my series. No need to rehash the edits, as an author will always find mistakes with her work, no matter how many times she re-reads it. AJ and I have a favorite saying, “A novel is never finished. The author just gives up!” It just might be time to give up on this one…maybe.

It is my greatest hope this series gets better with each book. I hope you enjoy Midnight Hunt even more than I enjoyed writing it. On to write Midnight Eclipse!

That’s my two pence…

Arial Burnz

August 2013

* * * * *

Chapter One

Vollstadt Village on the Northern Coast of Germany—1636

Eighty years ago today, he killed her…

Broderick clenched his teeth as he cradled the frail body of his beloved Davina in his lap. “Blossom…when you hurt, I hurt. Please.” He gashed his wrist with his fangs and offered his healing blood. She shook her head. The torn flesh gathered and closed, healing without a scar.

“We have already discussed this.” Davina pushed his wrist from her face then coughed and curled in his lap like a fetus. She pressed the kerchief to her mouth as she labored through another long spell of hacking and wheezing.

The scent of her blood wafted up to his senses and he savored the sweet essence of his wife. Tears stung his eyes. “I will not lose you. Please let me heal you, just this once.” He knew his plea would be useless.

Drawing shallow breaths and rubbing the blood from her mouth, she gazed at him with sorrow-filled glassy eyes. “That is what you said the last two times. Darling, I cannot bear to live like this. You know the healing is only temporary. Your blood cannot purge this disease from my body and, each time, it returns worse.” His wife gasped and coughed, grunting and sputtering blood.

“Let me transform you, Davina.” He clung to her gaunt figure, hoping this time she would listen. “Then we can spend eternity together.”

“And spend an eternity running from—” She gritted her teeth and panted, squeezing her eyes shut. She heaved breaths and tensed in his arms. “Running from the Vamsyrian Council for fear of them destroying us. I want peace, my love.” She finally sighed. “I want peace.”

Broderick helped her lie back onto their bed and nestled under the covers beside her. She shivered. Her fingers feathered across his bare chest, and her unsteady hand reached for his face. He pressed his lips to her palm. Though gray streaks had dulled her hair with age and the wrinkles on her beautiful face bore testimony to her four-and-sixty years, the light of her spirit shining from within had not diminished…until these last two weeks. Davina grew weary.

“It is too late for me, Broderick. Even immortality cannot restore my youth.” She chuckled and Rick’s heart constricted. “We would forever receive the scathing looks thrown at us now…an old woman with such a young, handsome man. Scandalous.”

“I care not what others think. I—”

She placed a finger on his lips. “Hush.” She moaned and clung to him, coughing and bleeding from her mouth onto his chest. “End this now,” she wheezed. “Feed from me one last time, my darling. Let my life give you sustenance and offer me peace.”

“Nay!” He gripped her shoulders and searched her eyes. “You cannot ask this of me!”

“I plead for mercy, Rick.” She sobbed and a wave of misery flooded him with such a force, it stole the breath from his lungs—misery his wife had been holding back all this time!

“My god! Why did you not let me—”

“Forgive me, my love, but I did not want you to worry so.” She pressed her palms to his cheeks, wet from tears. “But now you know why I beg you to let me go.”

“Nay, Davina,” he whimpered into her hair and enveloped her in his embrace. Rocking her in his arms, he wept as she wracked and convulsed, coughing and moaning. She held nothing back. Her anguish consumed him. His sobs mingled with hers. Heart breaking, but knowing he could not let her endure this torment for his sake, he surrendered. “Aye, Blossom.”

Broderick pushed the hair from her tired eyes and damp but smiling face. She nodded and released a shuddering sigh. “Thank you, my love.”

He touched his forehead to hers and clenched his jaw. “How will I live eternity without you?”

Threading her tiny fingers into his hair, she gripped him with as much strength as her weakened form would allow, but her eyes bore into his with purpose. “Hear this now. Nothing, not even death, will keep me from loving you. Though this body may wither and become a dry shell, my spirit will pursue you until the end of time. We will never be apart.”

He covered her mouth with his and tasted her blood. Trailing tender kisses across her cheek and jawline, he nestled against her neck. “Eternally yours,” he whispered.

She clutched his head and offered her throat. “Together forever.”

Broderick hesitated, her erratic pulse beating against his tongue.

“Give me peace,” she whispered in a tortured breath. “Do this for me.”

“I will love you forever, Davina.” His fangs pierced her cool skin and Broderick drank the life from his wife, granting her wish…and tormenting his already damned soul.

Broderick threw the empty earthen cup across the tavern and it shattered, raining pottery shards over the patrons at the far wall.

“Acht!” The innkeeper charged to Broderick’s table and stuck a rigid finger in his face. “Another outburst like that and I’ll toss you out on your rump!”

Rick scoffed and leaned forward. “Don’t you have anything stronger than beer?” he demanded in German. “Bring me Scotch.”

The owner threw his head back and let forth a hearty guffaw. “You’re drunk enough, if you ask for that.” He glanced around as a few others joined him in a chuckle, but Broderick frowned. The man sobered. “Beer and wine is all I have. You want something stronger, you’ll have to travel down the river to Bremen.”

Perhaps he should go back to his ship where he had Scotch in the hold. “Don’t you have a barber in this town? He should have what I need.”

The owner frowned. “He most assuredly does not. He has just enough aqua vitae for the needs of our village. I’ll not wake him for the likes of you.” Crossing his arms, he stood firm, his posture daring Broderick to argue the matter further.

Not the least bit affected by the man’s attempt at intimidation, Rick tossed a small sack of coins onto the table. He wasn’t ready to return to his ship. “Then bring a cask of beer to my table. ’Tis enough there to pay for ten of them.”

The stocky man snatched the bag and examined the coins. Cocking an eyebrow, he hefted the sack in his beefy hand, then narrowed his eyes at Rick. The innkeeper disappeared through the door at the rear of the tavern and returned with a cask and a lead cup. “No more smashing my wares. It’s no business of mine if you want to drink yourself into sin, but you’ve been peaceful until now. Let’s keep it that way.” With a nod, he stomped off to his post behind the wooden bar.

Broderick glared at the other patrons, who eyed him with a mixture of apprehension, anger and disgust. However, they were all wise enough to divert their attention elsewhere, leaving him to his drink. The small tavern at the edge of the village where he’d docked was dark and unassuming. He just needed a hole in which to hide and sort through his thoughts without his crew badgering him about the long, senseless journey.

What in blazes am I doing in Germany?

The decades had been lonely without Davina, but he had managed. Seeing his step-daughter Cailin and her husband James had eased some of the grief. Though he mostly left Cailin in the capable hands of her spouse, Broderick returned every few years to visit…and they grew older while he did not. They had five beautiful children, who also grew into adulthood. Broderick watched from afar as time stole them from him, one by one. None of their children or grandchildren pursued the shipping company, diverting their occupational interests elsewhere, so when Cailin and James passed, Broderick reclaimed it, long forgotten by their offspring.

Rebuilding the business kept him occupied enough to stave off the heartache of losing Davina. Though his bereavement had never disappeared, he had managed. And when her birthday arrived, he mourned as he always did on those special days. But this year, as he wept over her grave, grief swallowed him. The specter of his beloved Davina had penetrated his defenses and pierced through the numbness he’d forged over the near-century. His heart ached like the day he lost her and grew to a restless yearning, which encouraged him to leave Scotland. He readied the smallest ship in his fleet, requiring only a four-man crew, whom he trusted and paid well to protect his investments.

He followed this longing south—out of Scotland, along the eastern coast of England and across the Channel to Belgium. Then the compelling desire to traverse along the war-torn, northern coast yanked his soul through the Netherlands and to the final port of Vollstadt in Germania of the Holy Roman Empire. Each time he had docked along his journey, his crew would restock and he would explore the port. He would feed and find no reason for what pulled him away from home, so they would sail onward. As far as his crew was aware, he was searching for a place to expand his shipping business.

Thankfully, this tugging at his soul kept them along the coast and away from most of the conflict happening inland in Central and Southern Germany. In his grieving and frustrated condition, he would have gladly slain the countless mercenaries raping the countryside in these endless battles over religious prattle. But he wouldn’t unleash his wrath for the deaths would weigh heavy upon his soul, neither would he put his crew in danger. He had enough burdens to bear without having their lives on his conscience as well.

And here he sat, staring at the leaden mug waiting to be filled, just as he ached for his own heart to be filled.

Due to the rapid healing of his immortal blood, alcohol had no real effect on him. At one time, he’d had a generous portion of Scotch whiskey and started to feel drunk, but it quickly passed. He gulped down six mugs of beer from the cask and closed his eyes tight against the ache in his chest. The libation did nothing to drive the images of her from his mind. I should relive them…again and again. Savor every moment. Eight decades of silence…and then a precious, spectral encounter with her today. He had only dreamt when Davina was near, whenever she thought of him while he slumbered during the day. But she was dead, so these new visions couldn’t be her. Perhaps he had been so consumed with grief on the eightieth anniversary of her death, he had finally gone mad.

Davina had been in the woods, her ethereal form naked and waiting for him. Her cinnamon tresses spilled over her shoulders and hid the precious globes of her breasts, but blended with the thatch of curls at the juncture of her thighs. Young and breathtaking as she was when she’d entered his Gypsy tent as a voluptuous woman in 1514.

He fell to his knees before her and buried his face in her skin, growing hard as he inhaled the lavender scent of her hair. “Davina!” He covered the swell of her belly with kisses and nibbles, his hands smoothing over the lush curves of her silken legs, bottom and back, unable to get enough of her.

She cradled his head to her breasts and wept. “How I’ve missed you!”

Davina straddled his thighs and Broderick claimed her lips. Tearing open his breeches, he then slipped inside her wet heat. Surely he had died and gone to heaven! She clung to his back as she rode him to a swift and furious climax, taking Broderick with her.

Shuddering and panting, he pulled back to gaze at the rapture on her face and a chestnut-haired woman with creamy skin rocked in his arms. “Blossom?”

She nodded, her sapphire eyes revealing the woman he would die for. Davina pressed her lips to his and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Together forever.”

Aye, he had gone mad. Broderick opened his eyes, reached for the cask and jerked with a start.

Malloren Rune sat across the table from him. “Well met, Broderick MacDougal,” she whispered in her British accent, concern in her gaze and dressed like a German peasant woman.

The prophetess! “I cannot recall the last time I have been taken by surprise.” He scowled at her. “Exactly how much does your position as the Keeper of Secrets prolong your life?” The last time he had seen her, over a century ago, she was more than one-hundred sixty years old. What was different about her? Her skin held the subtle scent only found on… “You are a Vamsyrian?”

She nodded.

“But…you are a member of the Army of Light.”

“It was necessary so I may continue my station. My transformation was the second sign in the prophecy. It appears I will be the steward of this journey to redemption for Vamsyrians.”

He tipped his head back and a sardonic chuckle rumbled through him at the irony. “The one who advises mortals against the very choice you made. Have you sacrificed your soul to save us all?”

Clearing her throat, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin with regal defiance. “There are many sacrifices I have made through the years in my service to God, though none quite as important as this. The prophecy is why I am here.”

“Where were you when Davina died of consumption? You claimed she was the key to this damned prophecy and, when I needed answers, you were nowhere to be found.” He cursed under his breath. “How is it I did not sense you approach me? Why I could not find you?”

Malloren shifted in her chair and avoided his glare. “My talents for remaining unseen were magnified when I crossed over.” She narrowed her eyes. “You will not find me if I do not wish to be found.” Glanced at his cup, then the cask, she sighed and sadness shrouded her face. “I truly regret the sorrow you have endured over Davina’s passing, but I have—”

Broderick jumped to his feet and snatched her throat in his hand. “Lies!” he hissed. “The prophecy. Her part in it. Don’t pretend to show compassion toward either of us. If you had a care, you would have let me kill Angus and I could have made amends with the Council. She would be with me now.”

In spite of the hold Rick had on her, she only encircled his wrist with her fingers and shook her head. “You must never transform her, Broderick,” she whispered. “And if you had killed Angus, Davina’s soul would have been destroyed and you would have lost her forever.”

“I did lose her!”

“Take your hands off the maiden, son.”

Broderick glanced to his left and spied a half-dozen glowering men, ready to pounce, various sharp and blunt objects in their fists.

Malloren put her palm out to stay the crowd. “I am not in danger, kind sirs,” she rasped in German. “But you will be, if you take another step closer. I know this man and, in his present disposition, he will tear your beating hearts from your chests.”

Broderick shoved Malloren back into her chair and snarled. “You know nothing about me, woman.” He waved a dismissive hand at the intimidated men. “You have nothing to fear from me.” He crossed his arms and scowled at the prophetess.

The innkeeper narrowed his eyes. “Acht! Damned gentry and your sick games.” He pointed his axe at Broderick. “I’ve had enough of you and your lady friend. Get out of my tavern.”

As much as Broderick wanted to release his pent up anger and grief on everyone around him, rational thought won over his emotions. These men didn’t deserve his wrath. He’d save that for Malloren. He leveled his gaze on her. “Aye, let us take this outside, shall we?”

She rubbed her throat and nodded. Rick collected his cloak and satchel, then pivoted on his heel and stalked from the tavern.

The damp, chilled August night haunted his form, surrounding him with heavy foreboding. He slung his satchel over his shoulder, nestling it against his right hip. Out of instinct, he checked to ensure his sword cleared his scabbard at his left hip. Malloren scampered to catch up as he stomped down the road to the coastline. He donned his cloak and hugged it tight against his throat. The North Sea lay quietly hidden on his left behind an oppressive fog bank. The stillness of the late night sucked the life out of his argument. He grumbled.

“We are far enough from the town. Let us speak.”

He continued down the road at a determined pace. “So you can feed me more of your lies? I think not.”

“You dreamt of her today, didn’t you?”

He stopped and held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the dream and Davina’s haunting presence.

“Davina lives.”

He whirled to face the prophetess and she staggered back. “Why are you here! To torment me? Is my grief not enough to satisfy you?”

“I’m here to help you. She has been regenerated.”

“Regenerated?” A cold lump formed in his stomach and snaked over his heart. “You mean from the grave?”

“No, as in reborn.”

Broderick choked on his words. “Are you mad?”

“Have you not had a yearning to come here? Are you not drawn to this place by an unknown force?”

“Stop speaking to me in riddles! She is dead!” Broderick paced, doing his best to push down the rising tide of hope the prophetess could bring back his wife. He couldn’t believe…because to believe was insane!

“Davina’s soul resides in another body and is calling out to you now.”

“What are you…? So she is a wee bairn? A child I am to…what, raise?” Broderick resisted the urge to slap the woman, who had obviously lost all her faculties.

“No, of course not. She is a woman grown.”

He stood with his mouth agape. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I know this may sound—”

“Preposterous? Absolutely absurd? That it does! And you contradict your teachings. The soul lives once and is destined for heaven or hell. You must take me for an idiot! Is it not why Vamsyrians were created—to trap the soul and condemn it to an eternity in hell? A choice, I might add, you have also made.”

“Yes, as is my understanding of this arrangement with Satan, and yes…I am a part of those souls now. But if we can fulfill the prophecy, we will be saved. Davina is the key.”

“If we can fulfill the prophecy?” Broderick placed his fists on his hips. “You speak as though we have a say in the matter.”

Color mottled Malloren’s cheeks. “If the prophecy can be fulfilled,” she amended. “As for the soul’s journey into death, there are some who are given the choice to return to earth. Thus is the purpose of Davina’s soul, to return and fulfill the prophecy.”

Broderick’s mind twirled with confusion and he shook his head to clear it. “I have had enough of this.” He stalked away from Malloren, the sea on his left once again, his figure bent forward to his destination.

“And yet you still walk toward her instead of your ship,” Malloren confirmed. “She has long, dark-brown hair, does she not?”

Broderick slowed his steps. He was walking away from Vollstadt instead of toward his ship.

“But she still has the dark-blue eyes of Davina, no?”

He stopped and, again, closed his eyes to resist becoming lost in the dream of her. “How do you know this?”

“I have seen her in visions and this is why I am here. Tell me the dream.”

He breathed deep. “She’s in the woods. We have a tearful reunion and speak of our love.” Broderick turned to Malloren. “When I pull back from our embrace, I see the dark-haired woman of whom you speak, yet she has the eyes of Davina.”

The prophetess treaded carefully to Broderick’s side. “In my visions, she holds a wooden tome in her arms, a large tree with intertwining branches and roots. Within the roots is hidden a pentacle.”

“A pentacle?”

She nodded and knelt, drawing in the dirt with her finger a five-pointed star inside a circle with a continuous stroke of her hand, ending where she began.

Broderick’s brows rose. “Aye, I saw this book on the ground by her feet. A thick volume, bound with leather laces crisscrossed along the spine?”

“Yes, the very one.”

“The pentacle. I haven’t seen it often, but hasn’t it been used against the accused, which are facing the endless inquisitions that rape these lands? I saw many such trials on my journey here.”

She frowned. “Yes but, unfortunately, the Church has taken this symbol of life and protection against evil and turned it into a tool of hatred. Hypocrites.” She tapped on each point of the star. “Water, fire, earth, air and spirit enclosed within the circle. All of the elements in a never-ending knot. Harmony and unity of life.” Malloren snatched Broderick’s hand, using him to help her rise, and she gasped, holding tight. He tried to free from her grasp, but she refused to release him until she opened her eyes and grinned. “I see you have made a nuisance of yourself to the Inquisitors.”

Broderick crossed his arms and stepped away from her. “I couldn’t just let those innocent people burn. I heard their thoughts. The church is wrong…as usual.” He glared down his nose at her. “What does all this have to do with Davina?”

“This book holds the next sign in the prophecy. And she seeks a cure for Satan’s weapon against the Vamsyrians.”

“Now you’re talking in circles, Prophetess. If Satan created the Vamsyrians, why would he need a weapon against them?” He cocked his eyebrow, skeptical of the forthcoming explanation.

“That is the deception of the Prince of Darkness. He lures God’s children to willingly turn their back against their Father, and then slays them with the venom of another creature to ensure their souls belong to him. Satan’s sure way to bypass the redemption of the prophecy.”

“You speak of werewolves.” Broderick rubbed his left shoulder, scarred over thirty years ago during his first encounter with the claws of Satan’s weapon.

“Yes, and you are treading into their territory. There are many sightings and encounters in Germania. Some of those burned at the stake are afflicted with the curse of the werewolf, so the frenzy of witch trials in Germany are not without cause. If you are bitten by one of these creatures, your death will be long and torturous. You cannot let that happen.”

He pursed his lips. “You have a talent for stating the obvious. I assure you, that is not my chosen path to the grave.”

“Werewolves are not harmed by the sun. I suggest you find aconite to guard your ship during the day. And have your crew carry it in sachets.”

He frowned. “Aconite? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It is also known as monkshood, wolfsbane.” She jerked her head in the direction of the road. “You will find Davina in the Village of Kostbar ahead. You are here to reunite with her and protect her.”

Broderick turned his back on the prophetess for fear he might strangle her again. As usual, her ability to know so much about him made him uneasy. In fact… “Tell me prophetess, do your abilities as a Vamsyrian extend to giving me dreams of my dead wife to serve your purpose?”

The gentle waves lapping against the beach was his answer. Rick whirled to find the prophetess gone. “Curse you, woman!”

He wiped his face and paced a few steps before sighing and studying the empty road to the village. The fog from the North Sea crept onto the land and wove through the trees bordering the path, obscuring his view.

His wandering had led him here. He would see this through. If Davina wasn’t there and if these were more lies, then he would put this damned prophecy and his grief behind him and head back to Scotland. But if the prophetess was right…

Broderick’s heart hammered in his chest with a hope he’d not felt in almost a century. Could it be? Will she know me? Will she remember our love? He shook his head. “I am mad.”

Nothing, not even death, will keep me from loving you…my spirit will pursue you until the end of time. Together forever.

“Eternally yours,” he responded to his heart’s desire, and stomped down the path toward Kostbar.

Not a mile down the road, Broderick winced at the howling and staggering man on the road before him. The fumes from the libations in which he’d indulged drifted on the wind and soured the air as badly as his slurred singing, but did not disguise the unmistakable and sweet scent of blood. Though The Hunger surged through Broderick, it no longer lorded over him as it once had decades ago. He was now the master of his immortal urges and continued at his leisurely pace, eventually catching up to the stranger.

“Guten Abend!” The man swept his floppy hat from his head and executed an unstable bow toward Broderick, who grasped the man’s shoulders before he fell face-first into the dirt.

“Good evening,” Broderick repeated in German with a chuckle and righted the man.

“Oh, thank ye, kind sir.” He hiccupped and nodded. His face was smeared with crusted blood and his fat lip protruded as he tried to smile. A few missing teeth, the ones he had yellow and brown with stains, and the lines framing his eyes allowed Broderick to estimate this man around his mid-fifties. His scraped jaw was covered with gray stubble from the day.

“’Tis a rough night you’ve had, eh?” Broderick pointed to his own face as reference to where his drunken friend was marred. “Brawl at the tavern?”

The man licked his bloodied lip self-consciously and waved Broderick’s comment away with a sloppy gesture. “Bah! Nothin’ I couldn’t handle. I suppose I deserved it. I became somewhat belligerent.” He shrugged and chuckled before continuing down the road.

“You live close by?” Broderick strolled casually alongside him.

“Just over that hill there.”

“Well, I’m headed in the same direction. I’ll be sure you make it home safe to your woman.”

The man barked a mirthless laugh. “No woman in my life, boy.” He sobered, his eyes softening with deep sadness mixed with regret. No, God took her from me. Too soon. Much too soon. His emotions and thoughts swirled around Broderick, as thick as the fog coming off the sea.

Broderick fought the sting of tears, empathizing with the man. “Well, that’s a relief. I thought I might have to help you fight off an angry pot-wielding handful when you crossed the threshold.”

Their laughter mingled across the field as they turned up the road toward a modest dairy farm, judging by the smell and the stalls. “I thank ye kindly for keepin’ me company on the road. A good night to ye, sir.”

“Night.” He waved and stared after the man as he trudged to the small cottage at the edge of the farm. Rick called forth The Hunger and the familiar pain sliced over his gums as his fangs extended. Just as the man opened the door, Broderick rushed forward at the unnatural speed of immortality and spirited the man inside. “I wish I could rob the grief from you as easily as your blood,” he whispered, then bit his victim’s throat and drank deep.

Chapter Two

The dairy farmer slumped in Broderick’s arms as he fed from him. Josef was his name and his wife Annika was killed by a wild animal in the woods ten years ago. Or rather a wild animal was Josef’s conviction, for he didn’t believe in werewolves. They’d had one child—a grown man now with a wife and a child of their own on the way. Josef lived alone at the dairy farm, but his son and daughter-in-law visited often, filling the void of losing Annika.

Once The Hunger was satisfied, Broderick wiped the experience of the feeding from Josef’s mind. The only thing he would remember would be saying good night to Broderick before walking into his house. Broderick laid him in his bed, took off his boots and tossed a woolen blanket over his peaceful form. Piercing his thumb with his fang, Broderick smeared his immortal blood over the neck wounds, which healed without scar or blemish, then wiped Josef’s neck clean of the blood. The man would awaken thinking he’d passed out as soon as he hit the bed.

“Good night, Josef.” Broderick righted the chair he’d apparently knocked over in the initial scuffle and let himself out. He stomped down the path, back to the road and continued toward Kostbar. Though Josef grieved for his wife, his life was good and his memories much more pleasant than those Broderick had seen those many years feeding on the slugs of society. Initially, he had kept to preying on criminals—rapists, molesters, thieves and murderers. Doing a good deed, he’d believed, by giving them nightmares and hoping to scare them into changing their ways. When he learned such a method only drove them mad, he settled for wiping their minds clean of the encounter, just like he’d done with Josef. But afterward, Broderick was the one plagued with the memories of their unfortunate lives. Eventually, he fed more and more from good-natured people, who at least seemed responsible for themselves and their actions. Though not many lived today without some struggle to survive, at least their life experiences were less tumultuous…easier to stomach.

Sometimes, though, Broderick still dined on those black souls who relished in victimizing others. He would sacrifice some peace of mind on occasion to rid the world of their evil intensions and he had no regrets.

He ran southeast along the coast for less than a mile before he stumbled upon the sleeping village of Kostbar. It was smaller and poorer than Vollstadt, but held a country charm that reminded him of Stewart Glen, Davina’s home village back in Scotland. The tiny thatched-roof cottages of wattle and daub at the edge of town were fenced with narrow, rugged planks no higher than his knee. White and yellow flowers spilled over the worn wood, their petals tucked and closed for the evening in the misty air. As he ventured farther down the dirt path curving toward the center of the village, the structures heightened to contain second floors, white façades crisscrossed with dark-brown and red beams, typical of the more public structures he’d encountered on his explorations through the Kingdom of Germany. A river-stone well with a peaked roof and a bucket sat in the middle of the cobbled platz. A modest wooden bench, leaning against the well, provided the perfect place for someone hauling water to and from their home to sit and rest. It was surrounded by the baker, blacksmith and, what Broderick guessed, were the other shops of necessity for the villagers. Some of the signs were too aged and worn to read. He smiled at the subtle snores and sighs his immortal hearing perceived, flittering through the various windows of the cozy dwellings nestled around the village center.

The tiny settlement was surrounded by dense trees in many directions. He surveyed the platz and spied a warm glow flickering through the half-shuttered window of a corner cottage. Ambling forward, he spotted a hunched figure of an old woman shuffling around the modest abode. Her mannerisms were so much like his dear Gypsy friend Amice, his throat closed with grief. Broderick blinked away the tears stinging his eyes. Finding Davina needed to be his main focus, not grieving for loved ones lost so long ago. But it seemed he had come to Kostbar too late in the evening. He would have to return on the morrow when the villagers were awake. While here, he headed out of the south path from the platz and into the forest to explore the surrounding area.

Scanning the trees and flat terrain, he fumed about his recent encounter with Malloren Rune. “I should have driven my sword through her heart,” he grumbled and gripped the said weapon nestled securely at his hip. But what if she’s right about Davina? He clenched his jaw. He wanted to hope. Ached for the prophetess’ insane words to be true. But how could it be possible? “The woman is full of contradictions and—”

Snap!

Broderick stalled, drawing his silver-plated Damascus steel, his eyes darting around the shadows. A breeze rustled through the trees, blowing a faintly familiar, acrid and musty odor over his face. He narrowed his eyes. A low growl rumbled behind him and Rick had just enough time to whirl around, swinging his blade in a wide arc. A yelp, very much like a dog’s, echoed through the air. The giant wolfman’s yellow eyes gleamed. Its hulking shadow, standing on its hind legs, rose at least a foot taller than Broderick. Those yellow eyes dipped and bobbed in the darkness as the beast came bounding toward him. Broderick side-stepped the snarling animal, slashing deep along its side. Half-growling, half-whining, the werewolf limped backward, blood flowing from its brown pelt, salted with gray. Broderick took one step forward, to pounce on the animal for the final kill, but thought better of it. The poor, dumb creature was acting on instinct. What little information he’d learned of werewolves from his Vamsyrian friend Laurent said they never remembered the bloody deeds they enacted in animal form. Though they had longer lives than a mortal and healed almost as quickly as a Vamsyrian, they weren’t immortal and they didn’t choose this life. Once bitten, they were cursed.

“Go on,” Broderick snapped.

The werewolf retreated into the forest and Broderick cleaned his blade before sheathing it and shaking his head.

He traversed deeper into the woods continuing to survey the area—in the opposite direction the werewolf had vanished—and wished he’d had the chance to ask Malloren what wolfsbane looked like. He was definitely going to need it. The werewolf may not recover from the silver blade as quickly as regular steel, so that bought him some time, but he would still be vulnerable while he slept. Luckily werewolves couldn’t change form during the day.

Peering through the trees above, he tried to view the moon but the sky was overcast. The night was indeed coming to a close. The pinkening sky on the horizon confirmed his estimations. Rick picked up his pace to beat the coming dawn and headed back toward the dock in Vollstadt.

* * * * *

Monika feathered her fingers over the deliciously perfect contours of his abdomen, her index finger tracing the soft trail of hair that disappeared into the waistline of his breeches. Easing her fingertips just under the material, she slid them along his waistband, touching the head of his erect cock.

He groaned and his lips brushed her temple. “Blossom.” His husky whisper sent tremors through her breasts and down to flutter in her stomach.

With eager hands, she stripped him of his pants, nibbling back up his body, along the corded muscles of his thigh, brushing her peaked nipples over his rock-hard staff. She smiled when he shivered and grunted.

“Och, woman!” he complained. “Ye’ll be the death of me.”

Giggling, she continued her torturous ascent, grazing her lips over his stomach but diverting her path to his side. As she licked and teased the succulent cut of muscle just above his hip, she straddled his thigh and pressed her mons against his searing flesh.

A rumbling moan vibrated from his chest under her palm resting over his heart. “You’re so wet,” he whispered.

She gasped when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her up to seize her mouth with his, muffling her laughter. He rolled her beneath him, his thick shaft stroking along her cleft as their tongues danced. The taste of this man, the scent of his skin and his breath, was a tonic to her soul. Musky. Spicy lavender. Heavenly.

She seized his erection and guided him to her swollen entrance , where he glided inside, both of them moaning a chorus of mutual satisfaction.

“Eternally yours,” he whispered, his sentiment thick with passion.

“Together forever,” she responded.

“Little treasure.”

Monika Konrads squeezed her eyes against the invasion. She waved away whatever incessantly pinched her shoulder, but to no avail. She had been roused from her decadent dreams and could not ignore the intrusion.

“Come, Monika,” her grandmother Wilhelmina coaxed, pinching the flesh of her thigh. “I must make haste, child.”

Monika rubbed her eyes and reluctantly pushed herself into a seated position. “Yes, Oma. I’m awake.”

Her grandmother rustled around their tiny cottage bedroom, gathering her basket of herbs and medicinal items. Someone must have sent for her. “Who is it?”

“A farming accident in Nordenham.” Mina glanced at her, and snapped her gaze to the shelves where they stored tinctures.

Monika narrowed her eyes. “You look very tired, Oma. I thought I heard you up in the middle of the night.”

Mina she rifled through some sachets. “I was restless. I could not sleep.”

Monika nodded. Being a Luft Hexe—an Air Witch—her grandmother had the knowing about such things and, based on her agitation, something was wrong closer to home. This was about family. “It’s Papa, isn’t it? I want to go with you.”

Mina shook her head vigorously. “No. You are needed here. Herr Fischer’s wife will birth her babe any day now.”

Monika nodded, and fought the tears stinging her eyes. “Why can’t I see him?”

Mina sat beside Monika on the bed and held her hand. “You know he doesn’t want you to see him like this.”

She nodded and bowed her head. “Tell him I love him.”

“He knows, child. But I will tell him. He’ll return after the cycle as he always does.” She patted her granddaughter’s knee and rose to finish gathering her supplies.

Well, with Oma and Papa gone, at least I can finally do my ritual.

Mina whirled and raised a silver eyebrow. “You will be fine, eh?”

Monika rubbed her face, praying her grandmother wouldn’t—just this once—be so observant. Yawning, she stretched and tugged at her bed gown’s neckline falling off her shoulder. “Yes, I will be fine.”

Her grandmother looked askance, suspicion in her youthful-looking eyes amongst her wrinkles. “Behave, child. I know that glimmer in your sapphire eyes. Stay out of mischief.”

Monika grinned and her cheeks warmed. “Now why would I do a thing like that?”

A raspy chuckle flittered from Mina and she patted her granddaughter’s cheek. “Sprite.” Donning her shawl, she kissed Monika on the brow. “I should return within the week, but I am not certain how badly he is injured. I may be longer.”

“I understand.” She hugged her grandmother. “Be well, Oma. Love and light be with you.”

“And you, my child.” Bustling out of the room, Mina whisked through the cottage and Monika escorted her out the door. Her grandmother’s hunched figure scuffled across the courtyard, past the well and little bench, a rustling breeze following in her wake. Still in her bed gown, Monika peered around the door for modesty sake as Mina approached Helmut’s shop on the opposite side of the platz. The blacksmith nodded and hung his apron on a peg, then waved to Monika. She waved back. Their old friend never failed to accompany her or her grandmother to any of the surrounding towns when someone needed the aid of a healer. Mina was, after all, the one who delivered him from his mother’s womb…as she did almost everyone in this town.

Easing the door closed, Monika paused with her palms against the wood and sighed. She clasped her hands under her chin and fought to contain her excitement. For months, her nights were filled with sensuous dreams of a dark lover. His deep Scottish brogue whispered words of endearment that moved her soul. Ah, to find a love like that…so passionate, so fierce, so complete and consuming. “A love worth dying for,” she breathed.

She stripped her night clothes over her head and scurried to the bedroom to complete her ablutions. Donning her chemise, skirt and bodice, she laced her bust tight, then braided her long, brown hair and tied a kerchief over her head. She hurried through breakfast, warming some bread by the hearth, eating it with smoked fish and washing it down with some small beer. Once the table was cleared, she bustled around the cottage, performing her morning chores and duties—gathering herbs from the small rear garden they cultivated in the fenced space of their meager property; replacing the rushes on the floor; dusting the jars of tinctures, herbs and remedies on the many shelves in the front common area where the table, chairs and hearth dominated the space. Monika hauled a few jugs of water from the well and dumped them into the barrel by the hearth. Then she visited her pregnant friend, Irma Fischer, to help her with the chores at her father-in-law’s dairy. Once finished, she returned home, with fresh cream, milk and a small portion of the butter she helped Irma churn. She grinned, finally done with her daily responsibilities, and set about to perform her exciting errand.

Monika gathered the supplies she needed for her ritual and, basket heavy with her wares, grabbed three woolen blankets and slung them over her shoulder. She placed a quivering hand upon the latch at the door and paused. Sex magick was a powerful force, but what scared her more than anything was performing it in the open. I can do this. Think of him. Breathing deep, she imagined his large hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples until they peaked. A delightful shiver rippled up her arms and shoulders to cascade over her breasts. A love worth dying for.

She left her cottage and trekked down the south road leading out of the village and into the forest. Trees towered overhead and a waving breeze rustled through the branches, raining a shower of brown leaves, tumbling, turning and spinning through the air. The nights were growing cooler. The days more overcast. Monika smiled. Autumn is coming. Her favorite season.

Hiking through the woods, she stayed away from any trails and roads, navigating deep into the forest where the trees were dense and difficult to see through. The kind of ritual she would perform needed privacy, so she traversed a great deal of ground to find the perfect spot. After what seemed like an hour of crunching through the brush, Monika approached and assessed a small clearing, no more than six or eight feet wide, a copse of thin-trunk trees so close, one couldn’t walk between them except through a small parting. It had to be an old faery ring, as no signs indicated the fae were still using it. This will do nicely and might even give me a little magickal boost. She grinned, fear and excitement bubbling within her belly.

Quickly, she gathered a bundle of long twigs and brushed the dried leaves to the edge of the clearing, exposing the bare dirt. She left one blanket near the center on the ground, and draped the other two spare blankets across the break in the trees—one where she’d entered at the north of the small clearing; the other to the southwest. She placed four candles around the clearing, one at each directional point—north, south, east and west. Collecting and arranging a few stones in a circle at the center, she then tossed within it the twigs and some dried leaves and knelt on the blanket. With a single strike of flint against steel, the kindling caught. As her grandmother was an Air Witch, Monika was born a Feuer Hexe—a Fire Witch. She started a modest fire, holding her shaky hands toward the tiny flames and coaxing them higher.

Concentration was crucial for her task. The mood and state of mind were important when using a sexual climax to focus intent. Her heart thundered in her chest as she glanced around the forest, certain strange eyes were upon her. I can’t very well do this so jittery! She inhaled deep and closed her eyes. Think of him.

He nuzzled her hair away from her ear, his hot breath sending waves of desire across her neck. She shuddered when his tongue drew her lobe between his teeth for a sensuous nibble. Monika pressed her breasts against his chest and sighed when he moaned, loving his response to her.

Yes. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Raising her hands above her head, palms to the sky, she imagined the light and love of the divine Father through the sun and sky pouring into her, winding down her spine and into Mother Earth below, grounding her to nature in this union. Sex was a natural act of all species, so tied directly to the energy of the earth. A peace settled over her heart and the corner of her mouth turned up in appreciation.

She grabbed a long twig, held the end over the fire until it caught and carried the flame to the north candle. Lighting it with her left hand, she concentrated her intentions and love into the wick and said, “I invoke the north and the element of earth to my purpose, asking for your love, light and protection.” The flames surged a few inches higher in response. With her right hand, she drew a pentacle in the air, the five-pointed star enclosed within a circle, in one continuous line. Walking deosil—clockwise—around the circle to the next point, she lit the candle and repeated the phrase and pentacle, addressing the east and the element of air. To south, she invoked the element of fire and the flame flared much higher in response to her own natural elemental state. Then to the west she invoked the element of water. Completing the circle back at the north, she continued deosil to stand before the center fire pit once more.

After spreading her blanket beside the warmth of the flames, Monika stripped her clothes from her body with trembling hands, folding them neatly and setting them aside. She glanced around the clearing self-consciously, her heart pounding within her ribcage. A subtle breeze moved through the trees, caressing her bare bottom and swirling around her waist and breasts, stressing her nakedness and giving her great pause. Oma can read the wind, but will this breeze reach her in Nordenham? She swallowed her apprehension, forcing herself to continue. When will I ever get another chance to do this? The sun was continuing its descent, the forest around her growing darker with shadows. Time was slipping from her.

She grabbed her basket and sat on the blanket where she laid her ingredients around her. Pouring a small portion of the rose water into her hand, she rubbed it into her skin. “Father God, Mother Earth, I come before you this day, asking for your blessing to find my soul mate, the one you intend especially for me.” She inhaled the heady rose fragrance. Corking the bottle, she set it aside and assembled the herbs, mortar and pestle. Into the mortar, she sprinkled the herbs, swirled and crushed the ingredients with the pestle. As she stirred and blended, she focused her intentions into the herbs based on their properties—bay leaves and elfwort to attract her soul mate; caraway seeds to increase lust in her and her intended; basil for love; lavender for undying love and devotion; yarrow everlasting love; and thyme for affection. She set the mortar down and cupped her hands over the bowl, using the heat of her body and the desires of her soul to infuse the herbs with her heart and her hopes. His lips claimed hers in a hungry kiss and she melted against his solid frame.

Scattering the blend of herbs over the small fire, she whispered, “As the fire burns and purifies these herbs, so my soul and heart are purified toward my goal. As the smoke rises to the heavens, so do my wishes and intentions. Bring to me, Mother and Father, the perfect man of my heart, the one you intend for me as my soul mate. So mote it be.”

After placing her mortar, pestle and herbs back into the basket, she set the basket aside and lay on her back. The fire flickered orange light against the trees framing the darkening sky. Her heart beat a rapid staccato in her breast and Monika inhaled deep, closing her eyes.

His tongue darted out to taste her lips and she opened her mouth, eager to feast on him. She swooned as his fingers laced through her hair to cradle the back of her head. His other hand slid, strong and possessive, to the small of her back, pulling her body against him, his tongue delving deep into her mouth.

Monika smoothed her hands over her belly, then feathered them over her ribs. She caressed her breasts, pinching her nipples until they peaked.

His mouth kissed a fiery path to her throat and down to her breasts where he sucked her nipple into his mouth and flicked one bud, and then the other, until they ached with need. Nibbling a wet and hungry trail down her belly, his erection brushing against her thigh as he moved lower, and he positioned his head between her legs. Nipping her hip, his teeth grazed the tender flesh, then his mouth hovered over her dark curls. Hot, moist breath wafted against her mons and she whimpered. With a groan, he parted her nether lips with his thumbs, exposing her to him.

She slipped her fingers between her legs, parting her lips and swirling the slick wetness over her clitoris, and moaned.

Her dark lover fluttered his tongue over her sensitive bud, stroked along the length of her cleft, then returned to flick and suckle her clitoris. Long, sweet, sensuous strokes, then fast, torturous flicks over her nub.

Monika mimicked her dream lover’s tongue with her fingers, imagining his stubbled cheeks grazing her thighs, his mouth making love to her and her sex clenching in response. Stroking, fluttering, and thrusting, she crested and her thighs trembling as she continued to stroke her wet, hot folds, drawing out her climax…envisioning her release surging from between her legs, through her heart and pouring out into the universe, directly toward her soul mate.

Panting, Monika lay on her blanket and opened her eyes, gazing at the pink and purple streaks painted across the sky by the sunset. She smiled and drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Considering her purpose, even though she was a bit nervous about performing the sexual ritual due to its potency, it seemed the perfect approach to her desires.

She sat up and hugged herself, then glanced around her space in the woods, illuminated by the dying embers of the fire. Kneeling, she raised her hands to the sky. “Thank you, Mother and Father, for your blessings.” Taking the small jar of cream, she uncorked it and poured the white fluid into the earth, which greedily soaked up her offering. “Please accept this gift as my thanks.” She replaced the jar in her basket, stood and dressed, then pointed an open palm to the north, twirling widdershins—anticlockwise—and wiping her hand around the circle as she imagined the protective barrier around her space coming down. When she finished at the north, she held her arms up and whispered, “This circle is now broken and my intentions are sent forth with love and light. So mote it be.”

The crickets chirped around her. A breeze sighed through the trees, bringing the sweet apple-like scent of chamomile to greet her face with a loving caress. Peace warmed her heart and soul and she grinned. She had faith she would be blessed.

Monika knelt beside the fire pit. Being a Feuer Hexe, she was born with a direct connection to the element of fire. In a spiritual and magickal sense, fire ran through her veins and was present in the flesh and bone of her body. She was not only impervious to its heat, but commanded the element. She could absorb fire and summon it, as long as it was near. All she needed was a spark to wield it and have it do her bidding. Thrusting her hands into the embers, she drew the flames into her body. The heat spread through her limbs and radiated from her skin, leeching out through her pores. With questing fingers, she checked to be sure the fire was out and the ground was cool.

Assembling her supplies, she set them outside the space and did her best to return the clearing to the natural state in which she had found it. She brushed the leaves from the edge of the clearing, with a branch she used like a broom, and covered the ground once more. Satisfied with the results, she nodded and collected her belongings to head home.

As she rounded the bend in the road and her cottage came into view, a gangly young man, around fifteen years of age, stood waiting at her door. He looked vaguely familiar. “A message for you, Fräulein Konrads.” He thrust a fine piece of folded parchment at her. The missive was closed with a wax seal.

“Bode?”

His cheeks turned crimson. “Aye, Fräulein—”

“Oh, do stop with the formalities.” She waved him inside, but he remained on her doorstep. “Call me Monika, if you please. I’ve known you since you were this high.” She swiped the edge of her hand at mid-thigh. “You’re all grown up, Bode. I haven’t seen you since your parents moved to Vollstadt, what…five years ago? I hardly recognized you! What brings you here today?”

“I’m running errands for the Innkeeper in Vollstadt.”

“The tavern at the edge of the town?”

He shook his head. “Oh no, the larger one in the center of town—The Red Stag.”

Monika raised her brows. “Impressive.” She eyed the expensive paper and nodded. “Very impressive.” She glanced around the room and it was her turn to blush. “I’m afraid I haven’t a coin for you, Bode. Did you want me to warm you some soup? We have—”

“No, no. The gentleman who sent me was very generous. Thank you, though.” He bowed his sandy-haired head and dashed off.

Monika harrumphed and closed the door. Breaking the seal, she opened the note.

Chapter Three

Fräulein Konrads,

I am in desperate need of a healer. My father is ailing and I fear for his life. I am told your services are unmatched. You will be handsomely compensated for your time and skills.

T—

Monika frowned. “T?” She reread the missive and the words “handsomely compensated” brought a smile to her face. She pressed the note to her chest and sighed. Perhaps she and her grandmother could finally get another donkey. Most of the healing they did locally was paid through favors and food. Rarely did folks in the village dole out monetary compensation. Times were hard, with all the religious turmoil sweeping across the Kingdom of Germany. Mercenaries had ravaged their town on more than one occasion, and the following months had left the townsfolk struggling to recover. Additionally, people external to Kostbar were seeking healers less and less with all the accusations of witchcraft flying around. Thankfully, most of the persecutions were farther south and had not touched the northern coast. With any luck, circumstances would stay that way, but people were still afraid. More’s the reason why she needed to keep her spell a secret. Such activity would only invite trouble.

She eyed the note once more. Fräulein Konrads…not Frau Markas. The “gentleman” specifically addressed Monika and not her grandmother. Did he know Mina was gone? Or had Monika’s reputation grown to the level of garnering specialized requests?

Monika grabbed her remedy basket, always at the ready, which contained a sampling of herbs and tinctures that would help with most common disorders—fever, wounds, other basic ailments from head pains to stomach cramps—as well as other supplies, such as a small mortar and pestle, harvesting gloves, bandages and the like. Though she may not have something to help the gentleman’s ailing father, she might at least be able to bring him some relief until she figured out what plagued him. Once she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, she spirited out the door and clipped down the road. She had a two-mile walk ahead of her to Vollstadt. Yes, a donkey would be most helpful in times like these.

* * * * *

Monika hopped off the back of the wagon and waved. “Thank you, Herr Schmidt!”

The elderly farmer nodded and smiled. “I’ll only be an hour. I can stop by here on my way back and take you home if you’re done by then.”

She grinned. “You’d be a blessing to me if you did, but I don’t know how long I’ll be. If you’re here when I’m done, I would be most grateful. But don’t tarry on my account. I have nice strong legs on which to walk.”

He chuckled and waved over his shoulder as he departed.

She had been fortunate the old man was traveling down the road to Vollstadt with his latest harvest of vegetables, and even more fortuitous he shared the fruits of his labor. Not only had he saved her a long walk, Herr Schmidt encouraged her to stuff her basket with as much as she could carry. “You and Mina have been good to us. You’re due,” he had insisted.

With a grin, she labored with her basket, filled with three carrots, two onions, two turnips, a small head of cabbage and three leeks. She and Oma would eat well over the next two weeks, and longer if they were frugal.

Strolling across High Street, Monika contemplated the massive inn. A sign carved with a broad-chested stag and impressive antlers swung in the afternoon breeze. And it was indeed painted a bright red to match its name—The Red Stag. Her prospective client awaited, so she entered. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkened interior of the tavern and stepped aside to survey the large room. Customers hunched over their meals in conversation, while a blonde serving girl bustled around carrying an armload of steaming plates and a fistful of beer mugs. Monika tugged self-consciously at the neckline of her worn bodice and smoothed her hand over her threadbare skirt. The patrons were all finely dressed in floral pastels of the latest fashions. Ladies wore pretty lace-edged collars, kerchiefs and winged shoulders. The men wore bloomed pants and slashed sleeves of satiny materials. Their shoes had shiny buckles. A woman, her hair upswept and adorned with a lace cap and trailing veil, assessed Monika with a critical gaze.

“Excuse me, Fräulein.”

Monika jolted at the young man standing breathless before her. She hugged her basket to her side and stepped backward.

He was tall enough for her to have to tilt her head back to look into his hazel eyes, which were warm with sincerity. “I’m sorry to have startled you.” He held a carrot to her. “You dropped this.”

Monika frowned and examined her basket. Three carrots. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“I saw this drop from your basket as you hopped off a cart out front.” He slipped the carrot into her basket next to the others. “Even so, one can’t have too many carrots, eh?”

They shared a laugh and he bent at the waist for a short bow. “My name is Jason Kiefer.”

Monika glanced around the room, then dipped her knees for a brief curtsy. “Monika Konrads.”

“Nice to meet you, Fräulein Konrads.”

“Likewise, Herr Kiefer.” She grinned.

An awkward silence stretched between them.

He combed his fingers through his golden-brown hair.

Monika cleared her throat. “Well, I’m here to help someone’s father who is ill. I really should be going.”

“Of course!” He nodded and smiled. “I hope to see you again.”

She dipped her head in response and chuckled as he near tripped over himself backing out of the inn. Less than an hour and I already have a possible love interest. I should have done that spell months ago!

The lace-adorned woman sneered at Monika from across the room, then whispered behind her hand to the woman seated beside her. The pair of ladies glanced at Monika, then giggled over some private joke, surely at Monika’s expense.

Jutting her chin forward, Monika marched across the room, ignoring the rude women with effort, and stood before the tall, lanky innkeeper. She handed him the fine parchment summons. “Good afternoon, sir. Would you know which one of your guests sent me this note?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, then turned the missive over with his bony fingers and examined the seal and writing. A lascivious grin spread across his thin lips while his eyes roamed over her body. Monika shrank under his scrutiny. “Healer, huh? Is that what they’re calling ’em these days?”

Monika’s cheeks flamed and she clenched her jaw. “I’ll have you know—”

“A spitfire you are, too.” He chuckled and stepped from behind the bar. “This way.” The audacious man led her up the stairway at the back of the commons area, down a hall and stopped before a door, rapping twice before turning on his heel and leaving. His chortles filled the narrow space and grated on her nerves.

The door swung open and a man with raven waves, which hung to his jawline, filled the doorway. His admiring ice-blue gaze covered every inch of her as it traveled down her body, then paused at her neckline before he inched back up to her face. A carefully trimmed moustache and bearded chin framed his mouth, of which the corner turned up to form a rakish grin. “And what did I do to deserve a visit from such a lovely lady?” he drawled in a low, gravelly voice and raised a raven brow. He crossed his arms and leaned against the frame.

One would think she stood naked before him, based on the way he continued to assess her. She resisted the urge to cover herself. If she didn’t need the money so badly, she’d have turned and marched right out of this building. Instead, she jutted her chin forward and stood her ground. “I am Monika Konrads. You called for a healer, sir?” Though not overly tall, he was sizeable enough she had to rise on her tiptoes to peer over his broad shoulders into the room…and notice the empty bed. Monika snapped her gaze back to his. “I see no ailing father.”

“Ah, yes, well…if I had told you the truth, I don’t believe you would have rushed over here to help me.”

She hitched her breath and clenched her jaw. “I don’t know what services you referred to in your note, but you have mistaken me for someone else. Good day, sir.”

When she whirled away, he grabbed her arm, dislodging her basket, which tumbled to the floor. He immediately bent to pick up her herbs and vegetables while Monika backed away and trained wary eyes upon him. She glanced at the oil lamp hanging on the wall and readied herself to call forth flame.

“I assure you, you misunderstand me,” he explained as he replaced her things inside the basket.

Her heart hammered in her chest, her legs ready to bolt.

He stood, bundle in hand, an apologetic smile curving under his mustache. “I didn’t bring you here to proposition you, fräulein. I have researched for many years, and have come a very long way to see you. Please, don’t leave.”

“Then why did you lie to me?” She raised her hand to her shoulder when he advanced, and the flame in the lamp flared ever-so slightly in response.

“I am the one who is ill.” He glanced down the corridor before offering her the basket. “Will you please come inside? I don’t want to discuss this out here.”

She snatched her basket and took another step back. “I will do no such thing until you tell me why you sent for me.”

He sighed. “I’m looking for a cure, Fräulein Konrads. A cure your mother was close to achieving…so I’ve heard.” He glanced down the passage once more and leaned forward. “I’m a werewolf,” he whispered.

Monika’s lips parted and her breathing matched the furious pace of her galloping heart.

“I couldn’t very well put that in the note. Such a confession in writing would have me burned at the stake.” His mouth twisted into a devilish smile. “Will you come inside now so we can speak privately?” He swept his arm toward his room and waited.

Monika glanced at her path to freedom—down the hall and away from this man. Not to mention avoiding how being alone with him at an inn would mar her reputation. Then she assessed him and the incredible opportunity awaiting her. She regarded his expectant gray eyes. The simple fact he knew her mother had been trying to find a cure for the werewolf curse gave her hope. She nodded. Slipping past him, she backed into the room while tracking his movements.

He closed the door and faced her. “My name is Thomas Carr. Thank you for trusting me.”

“I don’t trust you, Herr Carr.” She gripped the handle of her basket.

“Well, at least enough to hear my plea.” He waved a graceful hand to the wooden chair beside her. “Please, have a seat.”

“I prefer to stand. You may proceed.” She eyed the fire in the hearth, her ally in case Herr Carr overstepped his bounds.

He cocked an eyebrow and nodded. “Very well.” Thomas crossed his muscular arms and proceeded to pace the length of the room. “Allow me to tell you a story, then. About six years ago, I was attacked by a werewolf and, when I awakened, found myself imprisoned in a cage. The man who caught me said his name was Marcus Sparenland.”

Marcus Sparenland! Monika gritted her teeth.

“He said he had a cure to the werewolf curse. He had been the one who attacked me and, by infecting me, said he would test the cure on me. I’m not sure how much you know about the curse, but when someone is bitten, they do not make their first transformation until the next full-moon cycle. As you can guess, I had to endure living in a cage for the next three weeks until the nine-day cycle was upon us.”

The weight of her basket was proving wearisome, so Monika put it down on the desk beside her. She crossed her arms, waiting for him to continue.

“You’re not asking questions. Do you know the cycle?”

“Since my job is to provide protection against werewolves, among other creatures, I would have to know such things. The nine days are comprised of three days prior to the full moon, the three days of the full moon, and three days after.” She pursed her lips. “Testing my knowledge, Herr Carr? I thought you heard my services were unmatched.”

“I had heard that, yes.” He studied her a long moment, then resumed pacing. “During my month in captivity, Marcus told me how he had paid a witch to find the cure, but once she found it, she left him with nothing in exchange for the money he gave her. You must understand I want to ensure I’m spending my money wisely and will not be left empty-handed for all my efforts.”

Monika clenched her fists under her arms so tightly, her nails dug into her palms and unexpected hot tears dropped from her lashes.

Thomas faced her and frowned. “You seem a little upset by this news.”

“Marcus Sparenland is a liar,” she gritted through her teeth.

“Was a liar. Judging by the anger on your face, you might be pleased to know I killed him.” He narrowed his gray, piercing eyes.

“Though I do not wish death on anyone, he is one man I would have been glad to see suffer a cruel demise.”

Thomas stiffened. “I see.”

“What happened?”

“During my month of captivity, he shared with me, that everyone who had tried the cure died. Why I would be any different, I couldn’t say and nor did he tell me. I only knew he had to open my cage to administer the cure. He would have to force it down my throat before I would cooperate, and that’s when I took my chance. It was a brutal fight, but nothing compared to what happened after moonrise. He tried to give me the cure right before sunset, so the two of us transformed in the middle of our scuffle. I don’t remember much but, by morning, I saw the bloody aftermath. I took the book and ran and I’ve been running ever since.”

Monika stopped breathing. “The book?”

“He stole her book of remedies.”

Monika’s breath left her in a rush. She pulled the chair from the desk and sat hard. Could it be? “Herr Carr…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you have the book?”

With a cocky grin, he swaggered to the bed across the room. Thomas knelt and pulled a thick tome from under the bed—one that dwarfed even his hands—and Monika held her breath as he strolled to her and thumped the book onto the desk. She stared at the tree of life burned onto the wooden cover, its branches and leaves swirling and winding to create an intricate design over the grain. Within the roots, burrowing a curving pattern underground, was nestled a five-pointed star within a circle. Her mother had drawn the tree onto the slate of thin wood with a piece of charcoal. Then her father had used a hot steel rod to burn the sketches, scorching the artwork onto the cover. Katrina used berries and plant leaves to create colorful stains to decorate the tree, the grass, the butterflies and flowers—a picture that symbolized healing and life. The colors had faded, though, over years of neglect. Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away. With trembling fingers, she traced the design, the worn leather pieces tacked around the corners, the leather lacing holding the spine and cover together.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” His abrasive tone softened as he whispered close to her ear. A woodsy aroma encompassed her with his earthy aura and his dark hair brushed her cheek.

She leaned away to peer at his face, his gray eyes studying the book as he leaned over her, seemingly entranced by the workmanship of the volume. Monika nodded and returned her attention to the book. “My father created the unique binding, based on my mother’s need to keep adding pages. She was dedicated to journaling all of her studies.” Monika opened the cover and grinned at the faded scrawls on the first page. She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Trailing her fingers over the crooked lines ghosting across the parchment, she whispered, “My attempt at helping my mother record her daily tasks.”

A deep chuckle fluttered against her cheek and she leaned away again. He turned his hooded gaze to her. “Who taught you to read and write?”

“Both my parents, but mostly my mother. She learned from my grandmother and grandfather, and my grandmother learned from her mother.”

“In this script?”

Monika bowed her head and shivered. After ten long years of searching, she had been so enraptured at seeing this book again, she had walked right into admitting she knew the Theban Alphabet. Her mother’s journal was entirely written in the script. Also known as the Runes of Honorius after Honorius of Thebes, who created it. The written characters were a one-to-one replacement writing system designed to keep magickal journals and spells secretive from prying eyes.

This alphabet made it possible to write in any language, replacing the native letters with the Theban letters. Based on the information Thomas now had, this script also made it possible for him to prove she was guilty of heresy or witchcraft.

Only those involved in the healing arts—and especially Elementals like her and her family—knew of this alphabet. The wrongful prosecutions of the church—Catholic and Protestant alike—forced them all to use such a secret tool to hide their worship and connection to nature. Monika scooted from Thomas and backed away. “How do I know you’re not trying to trap me with this?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What would stop you from labeling me a witch and seeing me burned at the stake?”

“What motivation would I have for doing such a thing?” Thomas frowned and placed his hands on his hips.

“Perhaps you are with the Church, trying to cleanse the land with covert methods.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I am far from being pious, my dear. You could just as easily turn me in for what I claimed. The Church hardly needs proof for an accusation. Their trials prove guilt.”

He had a point and was indeed trusting her as much as she was putting her trust in him. All she need do is cry werewolf. If he was what he claimed, the priests only needed to wait until the full moon to watch him transform. But if he didn’t transform, what would they do to her for wrongfully accusing him?

Monika regarded her basket and stood. “I have to know your condition is real.” She stepped toward her basket on the desk, untied and unwrapped the leather harvesting gloves. “Since you’re in a testing mood, if you are what you say you are, then you know wolfsbane will harm you.” She inserted her hand into one of the gloves.

Thomas clenched his fists at his sides, uncertainty in his gaze.

“Due to the poisoned properties of wolfsbane, I use these gloves to gather the herb.” She stretched her hand toward him. “Touch this glove.”

“You want to see the remnants of the herb burn me.” He nodded. “I understand.” He stalked forward—his cold steel gaze trained on her. Clasping the glove as if to shake her hand, Thomas grimaced as his skin hissed and thin tendrils of smoke rose between them.

She yanked her hand back, releasing him, her breathing labored. She gawked a moment, stunned at the revelation, then pulled the glove off and replaced it and its mate in her basket. “Very well.”

Thomas’s top lip curled for a moment, almost like a snarl. He turned his back on her and sauntered to the table at the center of the room to sit on one of the four wooden chairs.

Grabbing a small jar of burn ointment, she followed and pulled a chair beside him. “Please give me your hand.” The scent of honey, olive oil and witch hazel swarmed thick between them as she applied the herbal mixture to his palm. “I’m sorry.”

“As I said, I understood why you made the request.” He smirked. Thomas was definitely pleasing to the eye.

She focused on tending his burns. “What is it you’re asking of me?”

“To translate the text.” His voice was thick and grainy.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” She stopped applying the ointment.

He snorted. “This is nothing compared to the transformation.” He touched her chin with the curled index finger of his other hand. “You worry for naught.”

Her pulse quickened and she swallowed to alleviate the dryness in her throat. “I’m a healer. It’s my job to worry about those under my care.”

He rubbed his thumb along her jawline.

She cleared her throat and avoided his gaze while she leaned away from his caresses and finished applying the ointment with quick strokes. Monika seethed. Not that Thomas’s attentions were unwanted, but he took liberties with her far too early. They had just met and he thought he could touch her as he pleased? Rising from the chair, she snatched the cork and ointment jar and padded back to the desk. With shaking hands, she returned the liniment to her basket.

“There are years of work notes in here,” she said, flipping through the book and turning page after page of her mother’s entries. “But she didn’t spend more than a few months on the werewolf cure. Why do you want the entire book translated?”

“I don’t.” He leaned his rump against the edge of the desk. “I’m only interested in the cure for the curse. I’ll pay your for your time, of course. Once we’re done, you can have the book, as well.”

“Did Sparenland tell you my mother was the author?”

“No. Actually, I have been all over the Holy Roman Empire, consulting with many healers to get this book translated. No one would do it for me. They felt the same way you did, that I was trying to ensnare them into admitting they were witches and would be burned as a consequence. I can hardly blame them with the atrocities that have occurred over the last several decades. I was lucky enough one person finally told me who the author was and where I could find her—I’m assuming based on the notes—and here I am.” His ice-blue gaze searched her face. “Even if I can’t find the cure, Monika, I want to at least be able to control it. I have avoided friendship.” He cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb over her trembling lips. “Avoided companionship,” he whispered, staring at her mouth with hunger in his eyes. “I cannot live thus.” His mouth descended upon hers and she pushed away from him.

Scrambling from the chair, she turned her back to him and gripped the edge of the desk. She wanted nothing more than to slap the man across the face. How dare he? But she needed that book. Yes, Thomas was very attractive and had a certain allure, but he was being completely inappropriate. She sighed to calm her frazzled demeanor and whirled to face him. “I made a mistake coming into your room alone. I thought I made myself very clear in the hall that I was here as a healer. If you want someone to warm your bed, Herr Carr, I’m sure the innkeeper can provide a willing woman.”

His eyes softened and he nodded. “You’re right, of course. I tend to be more aggressive during the moon cycle, especially regarding the weaker sex. Admittedly, I find you very attractive, so it’s that much harder to control myself. Forgive me.” Thomas turned the book on the desk, so it faced her. “If I promise to keep to our business, would it be too much to ask for you could start translations now? I am rather anxious, considering how close I am to getting answers after all these years.” His brows lifted and he donned the apologetic smile he wore at the door.

“Here?”

He nodded.

“I was hoping you would let me take it home. It is, after all, my mother’s book and rightfully belongs to me.” She clenched her jaw.

“I agree, the book is yours, but, to be frank, I don’t feel comfortable letting it go until I have the pages translated. I’ve held onto it for a very long time and…well, have become quite attached to it. It’s been my only hope for a cure and I’m just not ready to part with it yet. I’m sorry.” He pulled the chair out and urged her to sit with a gesture of his hand. “I promise to give you payment each day for your efforts and when the job is finished, I’ll hand over the book. You can even hold onto the translated pages until the end and we can make an even exchange. Will that suit our arrangement?”

How she wanted to grab the tome and run! But if Thomas did as he promised, she could take it home in just a day or so. Surely it wouldn’t take too long to translate the materials. But that also meant she would be returning to his room. Meeting in an open space was out of the question. Anyone who saw her translating the strangely beautiful and curly script could cry witch. It was her reputation or the book. Or…

“I’d like to add a condition to our arrangement.”

His brow furrowed. “What are you proposing?”

“You leave me alone in the room. Go out into the tavern and be seen by others. They’ll know, then, that you and I are not together.”

“And if they ask why I am not with you?”

Monika held her tongue for a moment while she tempered the insults fighting to tumble from her mouth. “Then, Herr Carr,” she growled. “I would think you would be gentlemanly enough to defend my honor and state you have hired me to compose some herbal remedies for your sick father back in your home town. You might also be kind enough to state how improper it is for us to be alone.”

He chuckled and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Very well. I do have some errands to attend to.” He leveled his eyes at her and narrowed them. “But I am trusting you to stay here and keep to our agreement. The book doesn’t leave.”

She clasped her hands behind her, laced her fingers and squeezed, repressing her anger. “You have my word.”

His steel gaze assessed her before he nodded. He crossed the room to his bed and grabbed his satchel, which he slung over his shoulder. “I shall return in a few hours.” Thomas winked at her before he closed the door on his way out.

Monika closed her eyes and counted ten breaths before she slammed her fist onto the desk. He waved off her reputation as if she were a bothersome child! She paced the room until her face stopped burning, drew a deep breath and sat at the desk.

Slamming through the drawers to find writing instruments, she snatched a quill, some ink and parchment, and opened her mother’s book. After a few moments of reading the entries, the aggravation eased from Monika’s body and tears filled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Everything Katrina created with her herbal remedies had detailed notes of what did and didn’t work, who they were for and in what doses. Some of the remedies Monika had learned from her own trial and error through the years, incorporating what she could remember from Katrina’s teachings. Monika was overjoyed to find many recipes for tonics, tinctures and blends she still hadn’t learned to perfect. Many of the villagers would be relieved she finally had her mother’s notes.

As much as she would have loved to continue exploring the pages, she had a job to do. She flipped through the tome until she came upon the first mention of Marcus Sparenland. Monika had never met the man and, as a result, mystery surrounded this monster from her past. Wilhelmina had always been told to take Monika away whenever they knew Marcus was due for a visit.

“Why can I not help Mama when this man comes to call?” she’d asked her grandmother.

“Because your parents have requested it so,” Mina responded. “Now stop asking me, child. You are the best helper for the errands they are too busy to do themselves. You are helping your mother. Besides, your parents have good reason. Trust them.”

Then Marcus Sparenland had destroyed her family…and, after ten long years, she would finally find out why.

Chapter Four

Monika jerked when Thomas touched her shoulder.

He chuckled. “Did you not hear me enter?” Meandering to the table, he took off his satchel, then set it down and faced her. “How did you fare?”

She blew at the page, on which she had just finished writing, trying to dry the ink. “Well, I’ve transcribed a number of entries, but don’t see anything close to a cure…yet. However, I did skip ahead and find a recipe she’d perfected, which is a ward against a werewolf.” She handed him a scrap of parchment.

Thomas skimmed his eyes over the piece of paper. “Too tired and distraught to write a full entry,” he read aloud. “But I’ve refined the recipe to these ingredients: wolfsbane is the element of water; agrimony is air; betony is fire; fumitory is earth. The herbs and the elements are an effective ward, and even prevent the werewolf from transforming, thereby making the wearer of the charm safe.” He grinned wide, excitement brightening his eyes. “At last! So I might be able to wear such a charm to keep the curse at bay?”

Monika shook her head. “Read on.”

His smile faded and he regarded the note once more. “But they will kill the one who is cursed.” Thomas sat, shoulders slumping, and continued to read. “I will resume my studies on the morrow. So mote it be. —KK” He tossed the paper onto the table and rubbed his face. “Well, at least it’s progress.”

“I would caution you to avoid using that recipe until I learn how she came to this conclusion and what had her so distraught. Of course the wolfsbane should be avoided, but it does sound promising. I’m at the beginning of her studies, where she started using well-known remedies. So far, none of those proved to have any merit.”

“What did she mean, ‘Wolfsbane is the element of water’?”

“All life comes from four elements—water, fire, earth and air. And everything in our world embodies one or more of those elements. She believed if she used herbs that contained all four elements, she would bring about balance. She speculated the curse was actually a disruption of a person’s natural harmony, thereby creating a supernatural being.”

Thomas nodded. “I see. How difficult is it to gather those herbs for the ward?”

“Not too difficult. Some are actually in my garden. Why?”

“I’d like you to bring them on your next visit. I’ll pay you for them, of course.”

“As I said, I wouldn’t recommend doing anything with that recipe until we know more.”

He smiled. “Thank you for your concern.” He glanced out the window. “It’s getting late, so I won’t keep you any longer. You’ve done very well, Monika.” Reaching into his satchel, he produced a small leather pouch and retrieved two gleaming coins. Thomas rose from the chair and grabbed her hand, pressing the coins into her palm.

She gasped. “These are gold.”

“And there’s more where this came from.”

She gawked at the small fortune in her hand before she shoved it toward him. “Herr Carr, I cannot—”

“Please…Thomas. I insist. May I call you Monika?”

She frowned. “No you may not, Herr Carr. This is far too much money for the amount of work I did here today. This sizable sum and your insistence to keep behaving inappropriately toward me has me questioning your intentions.”

“Monika—”

She glared at him.

“Fräulein Konrads,” he amended, raising his hands in surrender. “No one has done what you’ve done for me thus far. I am merely showing you my gratitude.”

“I want to be very clear about our arrangement. I make no guarantees. I don’t want you coming after me for your money, or worse, if I cannot accomplish your goal. Please keep in mind, there may not be a cure…and you have to accept that inevitability.”

He chuckled. “I understand, but I have complete faith in you.”

She pursed her lips. “And I am not part of the arrangement.” She tried to give him back the coins.

He crossed his arms and smiled. “I will not take those back. They are yours and you have earned them.”

“But—”

“Are you trying to insult me?” His brow furrowed.

“Of course not, but—”

“Then it’s settled.” Thomas strolled back to the table and tucked his pouch into the satchel.

She sighed and dropped the coins into the purse at her waist. Monika gathered her basket and the pile of papers, including the parchment on the table. She gazed at the book, aching to wrap it in her arms.

“Thank you for all you’ve done today. I look forward to your return on the morrow.”

She nodded and dragged her eyes away from the tome. “Good day to you, Herr Carr,” she whispered. Monika left the inn and stood outside, waiting for Herr Schmidt. However, the more she thought about the text she’d translated, the more excited she became. Too fidgety to wait for the farmer, she strolled down High Street, through Vollstadt’s townsfolk milling about on their daily business, and headed back to Kostbar at a brisk pace.

Monika finally had her mother’s book. Everything else of her parents had burned in the fire. This was a precious piece of not just her mother, but generations of her family. Absolutely irreplaceable. Many of the pages had been handed down as far back as her great-great grandparents. When her father had created the wooden binding, her mother had organized and transferred all the pages from the family journals into this one tome. What a treasure! And I’ll have the cure! Almost an hour later, Monika returned home, exhausted but inspired by today’s developments.

Grabbing a few of the fresh vegetables Herr Schmidt had given her, she set them aside for the soup pot already at the hearth and stored the rest in the small root cellar dug in the corner of the room.

She chopped a quarter of the cabbage, a carrot, a turnip and a leek, plopped them into the soup pot and stirred. Sprinkling in a few more herbs, she covered the iron pot and swung it back over the hearth, where she coaxed the fire with a wave of her hands, keeping the flames modest but warm enough for the brew to simmer.

The door rattled from a knocking visitor. Monika swung it wide to reveal a grumbling Edda. “Behave yourselves, boys!” She released an exasperated sigh as her three boys filed into the cottage with dirty faces, skinned knees and elbows, and arguing over who had won their wrestling match. Edda put her covered basket on the floor by the threshold. “Peter, sit!”

The twelve-year-old did as his mother commanded and clamped his lips tight.

Edda grabbed Michael and Wolfgang—seven and nine respectively—by the scruff of their necks and shoved each of them into chairs…and Wolfgang smacked Michael across the table. “Enough, Wolf!” Their mother pinched each of their necks and silenced them. Shaking her head, she turned to Monika and donned a broad smile. “Good day, dear.”

Monika chuckled and fetched some ointment—which Edda’s husband Helmut used frequently for burns—and knelt before each of the boys to clean their scrapes and dab on the liniment. Since the boys couldn’t sit still for anything longer than a few minutes, Edda shooed the three of them out of the cottage to go back home. She picked up her basket from the floor and handed Monika two loaves of warm barley bread as payment. “Fresh from the oven and made with love,” the older woman said with a wink.

Monika hugged her neighbor. She peeked out the door at the boys skipping across the platz, smacking each other and running around in circles, and chuckled. “Would you like a slice with some honey and butter?” she asked as she held up a loaf. “Irma and I just churned some yesterday. I thought you might like to indulge.”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Edda pulled up a chair. “I see a certain twinkle in your eyes, girl. What has you so cheerful?”

Monika brought a wooden slab to the table, on which she placed the loaf, then positioned two small, round trenchers before her and her friend. With a serious calm belying the overwhelming joy in her breast, she said, “After ten long years…I’ve finally found it.”

Her friend’s mouth popped open. “Your mother’s book?”

Monika smiled and bit her bottom lip.

“How wonderful! Pray, let me see?” Her eyes darted about the cottage.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have it as of yet.” Monika fetched a long knife from the chopping block and the crock of butter from the shelf before she returned to slice the bread. “But I hope to have it in my possession within just a few days.” She placed individual slices onto the trenchers.

“Are you sure it’s her book?”

Monika clenched her fists. “I had it in my hands.”

“It didn’t perish in the fire. You were right all along!” Edda sat back and grinned. “So where is it? Why can’t you get it now?”

Edda rose and brought the honey pot and wand to the table. Monika frowned and sat to butter the bread. “I was summoned to Vollstadt by a man who said he needed a healer.”

Edda’s brow increasingly furrowed as Monika retold Thomas’s story of being captured and escaping with the book. “He sounds like a crafty blackguard. You mind him, now.”

Monika rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, you can be certain of that. He’s attractive, no doubt, but I certainly won’t let that interfere with what I’m feeling here...” She tapped the center of her chest, indicating her heart.

“Are you going to resume your mother’s work, then?”

“You know I will.” Gods, please let me accomplish what my mother could not. There’s finally hope. “I can’t wait to tell Oma when she returns from helping Papa.”

“Helping him? What happened?” Edda picked up the wand and drizzled honey onto another slice she’d buttered.

“I’m not sure. Oma said she was going to Nordenham for some kind of farming accident, but she isn’t usually so upset over tending to others. She was wandering around the cottage in the middle of the night before she left.”

“Ah, yes, she does have the knowin’ about such things close to home, doesn’t she?”

Monika nodded and swallowed the lump forming in her throat, the worst coming to mind. She still didn’t know how badly he had been wounded, how all of this was because of the curse. “I told her I knew it was Papa. She was just trying to save me from being worried, I’m sure.” She sighed. “I hope the answers I need are in Mama’s book.” Her eyes welled with tears. “If I can develop a cure, Papa can finally be well again.”

“This curse has plagued your family for a long time.” Edda stood and hugged Monika. “I best tend to my boys.” She framed Monika’s face with her warm palms. “I’m glad you finally found it, love.”

“Thank you.” She hugged Edda, who then grabbed her basket and waved goodbye before strolling across the platz. Monika closed the door and smiled. She snatched her harvesting gloves and grabbed an empty basket to slip off into the woods and gather the wolfsbane. Luckily, the other three herbs were already growing in their back garden.

The stalks of the yellow bell-like flower wasn’t easy to find in the lower regions by the sea. It usually thrived in the more mountainous areas, but a diligent seeker could be rewarded with persistence, and Monika was nothing if not persistent.

At least two hours later, she dragged herself back into the cottage and settled in for a soothing cup of chamomile tea sweetened with honey. She couldn’t help but steal a few more spoonfuls of her favorite golden nectar before she put it away. After savoring her cup of tea, she undressed and washed the sweat from her body in a standing tub of warm water with a soft cloth and lavender. Naked, touching her body and calmed by the effects of the chamomile, Monika allowed her thoughts to drift toward her Scottish dream lover.

* * * * *

Broderick awoke with a rock-hard erection and his mind swimming with erotic images of Davina. God’s blood! Gripping his turgid shaft, he closed his eyes and lost himself in the sorely missed lovemaking with his wife, fisting himself and pumping his hips. He could almost taste her from the dream, licking the sweet nectar between her legs, the scent of lavender and her musky essence. Drag and thrust, he pumped his rigid cock, his ballocks hitching as his climax rumbled through his legs and torso. Shuddering and laying in bed, he panted and clenched his jaw. Eighty years without companionship was enough to test the resolve of any man, but the love and devotion he had for his wife did much to help him remain faithful to her memory. Self-gratification had been an adequate way to satisfy any sexual cravings he experienced over the decades. He honestly had not needed anyone else and had no desire to bed another woman. No one will ever touch my soul the way you do, Blossom. But now…

The need to bury himself in her soft, wet heat surged through his body in a way he’d not felt since she was alive and in his arms. What in blazes was happening?

Broderick swung his legs over the side of his bed and rested his head in his hands. An oil lamp burned very low by the door to his cabin, glowing with just enough light for his immortal eyes. He stood and stretched, working out the last of the lethargy from his daytime repose, and sauntered over to his chest of drawers. Though his success as a merchant could produce an impressive wardrobe of the latest fashions, he was uninterested in pursuing such garments. They would advertise his wealth and draw too much attention. As one stalking victims for sustenance, he needed to maintain a low profile. He wore simple, form-fitting knee breeches, covered by tall brown bucket boots, which reached just above his knees. After slipping a white linen shirt with full sleeves over his head, he shrugged on a sleeveless doublet and buttoned it down the front. He fastened a belt around his hips and positioned his sporran just over his groin. The baldric holding his sword, nestled at his hip, and his wide-brimmed hat completed the ensemble. Blowing out the lamp, he exited and secured his cabin.

“Evenin’ Cap’n,” his first mate greeted when Broderick came on deck.

“Evening, Andrew.” He shook the calloused hand of his old friend. Andrew and the three other men on the ship had been with MacDougal Shipping Company for over fifteen years. They knew he was a Vamsyrian and they were loyal to the marrow of their bones. They also each wore some piece of jewelry Broderick had blessed with the incantation to protect his crew from Angus. He wasn’t taking any chances with their lives.

“Are we preparin’ to set sail tomorrow?”

Broderick scanned the night sky, the bright moon above almost full. “Nay, old friend. Not this time. Be prepared to stay awhile in Vollstadt.”

“Found some prospects here, did ye?” Andrew’s sea-weathered face brightened at the opportunity.

“You could say that. Are you and the crew comfortable enough with German to mingle with locals?”

“Aye. We can manage.”

During the journey, Broderick had expedited their education in languages by transferring knowledge to them through brief feedings. The men were uneasy about the idea at first, for many reasons. Initially, it was sharing such an intimate act—and not just with any man, but their captain—but also being bitten and having their blood drank. Andrew, brave soul that he was, volunteered first. When he moaned over the euphoric sensation experienced by victims, the men backed off and shook their heads. However, when Andrew recovered, his enthusiasm of having learned the rudiments of several languages in such a short exchange had the men reconsider.

“What was you moanin’ about?” Paddy had asked, waving his stubby fingers.

Andrew’s face flushed scarlet. “Well, I’ll just say it plain and simple. Being drunk from was better than drinkin’!”

“You mean it felt good?” Rob asked and scratched his bald head.

Andrew nodded.

“So them fangs don’t actually hurt?” Gilbert asked, examining the small wound at Andrew’s neck.

Andrew shrugged. “That part, just a little.”

“So say something in, French,” Broderick coaxed, while he smeared his immortal blood on Andrew’s neck to heal him. The men had seen him use his blood in such a manner for other situations, so it was no surprise.

“Hrmmm.” Andrew tilted his head and grinned. “Quelque chose en français.”

“Very good!” Broderick chortled, and the crew pestered him to translate. “He literally said, ‘Something in French.’”

They had all guffawed and fought over who would be next.

Broderick hopped over the port side of the ship and landed with a thump on the dock. “Well, if they feel comfortable enough, tell the men to relax and enjoy what the town has to offer. Keep your eyes open for resources and hands to hire.”

“Ja, Kapitän!”

His eyebrows rose. “Very good! Perfect diction.” He tipped his hat and strolled down the wharf to solid ground. Broderick kept his hat low over his face and navigated the streets until he could slip between a pair of buildings unnoticed. The night was early and several people meandered around the village on various mundane tasks, living their lives unaware of his presence in the shadows. He just needed one soul to pass by, alone on whatever errand brought them into his grasp. Broderick beckoned The Hunger, bringing it to the surface by envisioning the act of feeding. He closed his eyes to hide the silver glow, easily spotted in the darkness. His mouth watered. His fangs painfully extended.

“Yes, Uncle! I’ll be sure to handle that in the morning. Good night!”

A young man with golden-brown hair took two steps past Broderick’s hiding place. Broderick snatched him from the path and pinned him against the wall. Before the man had a chance to cry out, Broderick bit his soft flesh and drank. The inebriated effects of feeding rendered the man silent. His name was Jason Kiefer, an apprentice working with his uncle at a barrel shop.

And the chestnut-haired woman of Broderick’s dreams smiled at him from this man’s memories, a basket of vegetables in her lovely hands.

He pulled away from feeding and snarled at Jason, limp and moaning under Broderick’s fists. He let the man drop to the ground and licked the blood from his lips, pacing. Monika Konrads is her name, then. Jason had honest enough intentions, though he had lustful fantasies about her, too. What warm-blooded man wouldn’t? She was beautiful. He couldn’t blame the lad, but this didn’t mean he was pleased about it. Unfortunately, this man also had a history of obsession with women he fancied, and it garnered him his fair share of smacks across the face. His recent move to Vollstadt was due to a rather possessive pursuit of a girl in his home village.

“Papa trying to keep you out of trouble, eh?” he said and nudged Jason with his boot. What Broderick disliked the most was the manipulative way the young man met Monika. He wasn’t man enough to approach her and introduce himself. The lad stole a carrot from the wagon that brought Monika to the village and pretended she’d dropped it.

Broderick shook his head and picked up his hat, which fell during the feeding. Then he knelt beside Jason and pressed his palm to the lad’s head, wiping the feeding and his meeting with Monika from his mind. Doing so wouldn’t guarantee he would leave Monika alone if he saw her again, but it was worth a try. They’d only met once.

He left Jason propped against the wall, moaning and disoriented. The lad would come to in a few moments, wondering how he’d ended up where he was, and probably never share his forgetful incident with anyone.

Once out of the village and on the road that led to Kostbar, Broderick picked up speed and arrived in just a few short minutes.

“Acht!” a feminine voice cursed as he rounded the small stone wall bordering the village from the northeast road entrance. A hefty woman with a grimacing face tugged on the ear of a young lad. “Inside with you now! I’ve had enough of you boys wrestling!”

“He started it, Mama!” the boy protested, dodging his mother’s hand as she reached for him and scampering into the blacksmith’s shop.

“You have your hands full there, I see,” Broderick said, chuckling as he approached.

She turned toward him, her brows upturned inquisitively. Well, hallo handsome!

He pursed his lips in amusement at her unspoken compliment.

“Aye, those boys are a right handful indeed.” Crossing her arms, she assessed his tall frame. “You’re a stranger here. Something I can help you with?”

Close-knit community. He liked that. “Actually, yes. I’m looking for the healer or someone who is well-versed with herbs in the area.”

The woman stepped back, uncrossing her arms. “Not feeling well?”

“Nay, madam. I just need a certain herb I’m having trouble finding.” He kept his distance to respect her caution.

“Then you’ll want that house there.” She pointed to the corner cottage at the edge of the platz behind him. “Best healers around.”

It was the same home the old woman had shuffled about last night—the one who reminded him of Amice.

“Thank you kindly for your time and direction. Good evening.” He tipped his hat respectfully and strolled toward the humble dwelling. After rapping on the door, he removed his hat and waited patiently, steeling himself for the grief that might surface over being reminded of his long-dead Gypsy friend. The door swung open and his jaw unhinged.

Standing at the threshold was Monika, the chestnut-haired woman with Davina’s sapphire eyes…and she was more breathtaking in person than his dreams had ever revealed. Mounds of chestnut hair spilled from the blue-and-yellow striped kerchief framing her heart-shaped face and flowed around her shoulders. A widow’s peak at her hairline completed her angelic face—not Davina…yet her eyes. Sparkling jewels like his Blossom’s.

Her full lips parted with surprise. Dear Gods, let this be the one you’ve sent me! Desire swirled around this enchanting woman and enveloped Broderick in her spell.

“Good evening, sir,” she said in a husky whisper, then cleared her throat. “Is there some way I may have you?” She gasped and covered her mouth. “Help you! Is there some way I may help you?” Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands. Dolt! “Please forgive me. What a forward thing to say. I just—”

Broderick held up his hand. “No apologies necessary. The color in your cheeks is most becoming.”

She gasped again. His accent! Oh, Lord and Lady, could it possibly be?

He cocked an eyebrow.

She recovered from her embarrassment and shock, pursing her lips and crossing her arms. However, the corner of her mouth turned up in amusement. “Oh, you’re a saucy one.”

Broderick chuckled, the deep timber of his voice filling the small space between them, and leaned against the door frame, closing the distance. A familiar pull on his vigor made his eyelids droop and his knees buckle.

“Oh, my!” She was beside him, her arm about his waist, inserting her tiny frame under his teetering form.

He caught himself, but tripped over his own feet, backing away from the cottage. If not for her assistance, he would have fallen on his rump.

She grunted as she bared his weight. “Come, let me get you inside,” she groaned, and guided him toward the door.

Broderick stopped short, the oppressive boundary surrounding the dwelling all-too familiar. “Nay, I…” He retreated a few more steps into the platz and found his footing. Standing upright, he regained his composure and regarded her and her home. They have the incantation on their house! Are she and her household members of the Army of Light? He narrowed his eyes. What are you up to, Malloren Rune?

“You are not well, sir. I am the village healer.” She righted the kerchief on her head and grasped his forearm, tugging and urging him inside. “Allow me to help you—”

“I am well, I assure you.” He stood his ground and crossed his arms.

“Very well. Your male pride will be your undoing.” She picked up his hat from the ground and tossed it to him. He easily caught it, and she placed her hands upon her curvy hips. Her mouth twisted into a disbelieving smirk. “Since you are such an example of shining health, I suppose you knocked upon my door for another purpose. What is it you seek, sir?”

He couldn’t stop the flutter of unexpected laughter that rumbled from his chest. Broderick placed his hat upon his head, but tilted it back onto his crown. “Now who’s the saucy one?”

Her full lips parted only for a moment in surprise before she jutted her chin forward and crossed her arms…so like Davina. Broderick clenched his jaw to gain control over his riotous emotions—confused one moment, laughing the next and now thrown into grief and longing.

“I’m not the one stumbling from who-knows-what ailments. You can state your purpose or admit you need my assistance and step inside.” She jerked her head toward the cottage.

Unless he revealed why he couldn’t cross her threshold, going inside was not an option. However, if he didn’t give her a reasonable excuse for near collapsing or why he refused her assistance, he would alienate this woman before he could discover if Malloren was right. “I have been traveling for many weeks now, and at a rather unforgiving pace. I’m sure my condition has more to do with exhaustion than illness.”

She continued to glare at him, waiting for him to continue.

She is full of fire, isn’t she? He chuckled again.

Broderick’s immortal hearing picked up the rapid patter of her heart and desire swirled through the air around him once more, as if in response to his soft laughter. A rapid flow of intimate images flickered across the short distance between them, his own deep chuckle echoing through her mind. Visions of lovemaking as seen through her eyes assaulted his immortal senses.

Ohhh, that same laughter.

He narrowed his eyes. What was she remembering? The lover he saw in her mind was unclear and Rick bristled over the fact that Monika may have already been with someone else and that she was comparing her lover to him! He curled his hands into fists and fought to manage a calming breath as glimpses of a masculine chest sprinkled with dark-red hair flitted through her mind. His ire increased the rate of blood pounding in his cheeks when the man’s square jawline and bulging biceps appeared…and a dark-brown stain on the inside of the arm. The blood drained from his face and the tension fled from his body like a scampering hare. Those were visions of him! That was his arm with the mark he’d bore since birth. Broderick’s fingers itched to touch the dark stain on the inside of his upper-left arm, but he forced his hand to remain at his side. She was recalling their lovemaking…but how?

Monika rushed forward and guided him back to sit upon the bench, nestled against the river-stone well. “You’re as pale as milk!” She pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, then the other, before she tugged at his collar and opened the first few buttons of his doublet. “Are you dizzy? In pain?”

He gawked at her, unable to voice a response.

“Do not move.” She picked up his hat and placed it on the bench before she trotted back to her cottage and disappeared inside.

Broderick sat gaping at the empty doorway, mesmerized by the flicking firelight from what must have been the hearth in her tiny dwelling. When she re-emerged, she set his hat upon his lap and sat beside him.

She wrapped his hands around a cup. “Drink this.” By guiding his hands to his face, she urged him to sip the minty-smelling brew and he almost groaned when his elbow brushed her breast.

The strange concoction and the shock of the hot liquid returned him to his faculties and made him all too aware of her closeness. He tried to push the cup back at her. “Thank you, but I’m quite well—”

“Oh, that’s drivel!” She stood and punched her fists onto her hips. “I watched you stumbling around as if you were drunk and then turn as pale as a ghost right before my eyes. I know an unwell person when I see one.”

There was obviously no denying something was wrong, but explaining the source of his roiling emotions was out of the question. “Your village must be brimming with healthy souls, for you seem absolutely resolute about chasing all ailments from your presence.” He allowed a half-smile. As an afterthought, he raised the tea in a silent toast and downed the infusion. “I am grateful for your assistance.” He tried to rise, uncomfortable with sitting in her presence, but she pressed her hands to his shoulders and shook her head. From his seated position, he was gifted with a captivating view of her neckline and the abundant curves of her breasts. Broderick redirected his gaze, cursing at himself.

“Please stay seated.” She replaced his hat on his lap and stepped back. “You can rest from your long and unforgiving journey while you tell me why you came to call.”

He sighed, then handed her the cup. She looked down her nose with skepticism before she snatched it from his hand.

Broderick chuckled at her feisty nature. This delectable woman was going to lure him into a territory he wasn’t quite ready to tread, so he struggled to maintain a business-like attitude. “I’m looking for wolfsbane. I was told you might be able help me obtain some.”

“Wolfsbane.” She narrowed her eyes and tapped a nail against the pottery clutched in her hands. What ailment is he trying to hide? Why would he hide an illness unless… “Might I inquire as to your intentions? Wolfsbane is poisonous and should be handled with gloves, most definitely not ingested.”

“You might question my sanity if I tell you why I need it.” He smirked. Leaning back on the bench, he held his troublesome hat in his lap and crossed his ankle over his knee.

Her gaze dropped to his legs and once more her cheeks flushed deliciously.

His groin stirred from the erotic images cycling through her pretty little head. At least this confounded hat is finally serving some purpose. He was hopeful, but unsure, about this woman possessing Davina’s soul. And no small measure of guilt assaulted his conscience over this attraction to her.

She diverted her eyes back to his. “I might surprise you.”

“Oh, you’ve most certainly done that already.” The statement was out of Broderick’s mouth before he’d thought about it.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, then leaned forward, extending her hand in greeting. “Monika Konrads.”

He forced his eyes to stay locked to hers—in spite of the tempting visage of her cleavage—and accepted her hand, liking the firm confidence of her handshake. “Broderick MacDougal, milady.”

The acceleration of her pulse and the warm scent of her blood teased The Hunger. He reluctantly released her, then resettled into the bench.

“That explains your accent,” she said with a quivering voice, then smiled. “But not your intentions.”

He nearly wept at the familiar curve of her teasing smile. Even the way she clasped her hands before her, waiting for his answer, reminded him of his wife. Broderick cleared his throat and inhaled deeply. “Werewolves.”

“Aye, we have had our share of those.”

Broderick cocked an eyebrow. She had not hesitated in her proclamation, nor did she seem surprised.

“You’re in luck. I just gathered a fresh batch of wolfsbane today. Come with me.” She strolled toward her cottage.

Broderick seated his hat upon his head and pursed his lips, but rose and followed her. He stopped a few feet short of her threshold. “I’ll just tarry outside while you get the herb.”

She eyed him speculatively, then stepped through the doorway. Just inside the dwelling, she stood on her tiptoes and grabbed a large pottery jar from the shelf. Placing the jar upon the center table, she pulled a pair of leather gloves onto her slender hands. “How much did you need?”

Broderick shrugged. “I’m not certain. How much would I need to guard a small merchant vessel?”

She counted five stalks of the yellow, bell-like flowers. “I hope this is enough.” She quirked her full mouth and tilted her head. “Perhaps a few more.” She pulled out three more and wrapped them in a cloth. “Bruise the plant by crushing it thoroughly. I recommend you place it in some water, just enough to cover the herb, and let it simmer on a flame for a half-hour or so. Then paint the infusion where you need to apply the protection—on the door and window frames of your ship. Especially where someone might naturally grasp to come aboard, such as the rails. Perhaps on a door latch, the outside edge of a door, for example. Once the infusion has dried, it should be harmless to anyone who touches it, other than a person with the werewolf curse.” Monika re-corked the jar, then strolled forward and handed him the wrapped bundle. “Remember to use gloves, Herr MacDougal,” she whispered. Her gaze met his, searching. Could it be possible?

Broderick willed his breathing to remain steady. “What troubles you, Fräulein Konrads?”

“Forgive my forwardness, but…” She swallowed and clenched her jaw. Say it! “You seem so familiar to me. Have we not met once before?”

Hope soared through his spirit with such a rush, he used every ounce of strength to maintain a calm façade. “I had the same thought myself, fräulein. But a beauty like yours would be hard to forget. This is my first time in the Kingdom of Germany. If we had met, it would have been in my homeland of Scotland. Have you journeyed there?”

Monika slowly shook her head, fascination softening her features. “No, sir.” She stared a moment longer, then seemed to awaken from her dream state and cleared her throat. “Oh, do you have the ability to simmer the wolfsbane for the infusion on your ship?”

“Well, I have a small galley, but I’m not sure my cook Paddy would be pleased if I brought this into his domain.”

She grinned. “Then I’m glad I asked.” Plucking the wolfsbane from Broderick’s hand, she whirled and headed into her cottage. “Come inside and I shall create the infusion for you.”

He regarded the doorway and clenched his jaw, frustrated that he still could not enter. This is intolerable. “Perhaps I should just take the wolfsbane. I’m sure I can try to talk Paddy into steeping the herbs for me.”

I’m making a fool of myself over him. She nodded. “I understand.” Monika’s mouth twitched into a half-smile and she handed him the wolfsbane.

Regret weighted his soul. “Fräulein Konrads, please don’t misunderstand me. I do appreciate your efforts to assist me. You are a healer, after all. I…” Explanations regarding his nature were much too soon, but he didn’t want to leave her with the assumption he wanted nothing to do with her. “I am concerned for your reputation. It is entirely improper for me to be in your home alone and I won’t do anything to besmirch your character.”

Monika’s luscious lips parted in surprise and she blushed. “I am honored by your concern. Please excuse my familiarity. I have known most of the people in this area for so long that, when performing my duties as a healer, the confines of propriety tend to be unclear concerning the use of our home for treatments.” Embarrassment emanated from her before she spun on her heel and grabbed a potted pitcher and a jug with a cork inside her cottage. Has this spell made me disregard my reputation to achieve results? My desires are taking priority over my manners. A force of shame slammed into him when images of a raven-haired man with a modest Van Dyke beard and ice-blue eyes flashed through Monika’s mind. He narrowed his eyes speculatively and bristled. Broderick knew a rogue when he saw one.

Dipping the pitcher into the barrel in the corner by the hearth, she filled it with water, then tucked the wrapped wolfsbane and leather gloves under her arm. Monika sighed and seemed to release the embarrassment, her face brightening. She handed him the empty jug and pitcher of water and fetched a brass oil lamp, then closed the door behind her. “Shall we?”

“What, pray tell, are you proposing?”

She strutted across the courtyard. “We’re going to the village kitchen house to make the infusion, of course.” Monika flashed him a smile that left him dumbfounded. “Follow me.”

Chapter Five

Broderick shook his head to clear the haze and used long strides to catch up with her, trying not to watch her pert bottom sway as she sashayed ahead of him.

Past the center cobbled platz, around the end house adjacent to the blacksmith’s, a few doors down a wide path and Monika led him to the said community cooking area. Through the decades, Broderick had observed shared kitchen houses in poorer communities had become more common due to frequent fires in homes. Kitchen houses were built to accommodate the heat a brick oven could generate, being constructed with a single wide-open room and plenty of ventilation for smoke and flame. He followed Monika into the high-ceilinged cooking space, large enough to comfortably seat twenty if tables were brought in. A wide, raised hearth dominated the back-right corner, with a lengthy stone sideboard along the right wall. Shelves lined the room, stacked with pottery bowls, pitchers, and pewter platters. Wooden and metal spoons, skimmers, tongs, and iron pots, skillets and pans were hung around the room on hooks and racks. “A well-stocked kitchen,” he mumbled, then cursed when his hat hit the top of the door frame. He hung it on an available peg on the wall.

“Yes. There are many of us who enjoy cooking and baking. It’s primarily how we share each other’s services in our village.” Monika hung the lamp on a peg by the door and set the wolfsbane and gloves on the trestle table along the left wall. “I’ll need to get a fire started.”

“Please.” Broderick set the water pitcher and jug on the same table and ambled toward the stack of wood beside the hearth. “Allow me.”

Monika grinned, dipped a brief curtsy in thanks and slipped on the gloves. “What brings you to Kostbar?” She grabbed an iron cooking pot from the shelf and set it on the table. Ripping the flowers and stems into pieces, she crunched the plant and tossed the pieces into the cauldron.

Broderick inwardly cursed. He hadn’t thought that far into their encounter. He actually hadn’t expected to meet her so soon…or at all, for that matter. He couldn’t very well tell her his real purpose for coming to her village. I was drawn here by an unknown force only to find it was you. By the way, you may be my dead wife reborn…how do you do? Monika dropped a leaf of wolfsbane at that moment and bent over to fetch it. And I know exactly where I’d like to pick up where we left off. He groaned inwardly and redirected his attention to her question. He had to find a more practical application to his presence until they knew more about each other.

Broderick stacked wood onto the raised hearth, grabbed a handful of kindling from a wood box and used the available flint and steel to start the fire, striking several times. Of course! He rolled his eyes for not recalling this sooner, so wrapped up in meeting Monika he couldn’t think straight. “I own a shipping company, milady. I mainly deal in fine art and antiquities, but also in much-needed common goods, such as grain, wool and timber.” He continued to strike the steel against the flint. “Mayhap we can discuss what herbal remedies you can supply to my homeland.”

Monika slid her fingers over his hands, seducing the flint and steel from him, and sparked the kindling with a single swipe. She puckered her plump lips and blew the glowing embers until they flamed. Winking at Broderick, she placed the flames under the arranged wood. He gawked as she sauntered back to the trestle table. “Don’t lose that fire, now.”

He jumped to the task of prodding the wood with a poker at the raised hearth, encouraging a healthy flame, then leaned against the wall, shaking his head at his antics.

“I would very much like to discuss herbal trade.” She gifted him with a flirty smile. “A shipping company, you say? And you have never been to Germania?”

The playful note in her voice tempted his gaze to find her smirking. He grinned and stacked a few more pieces of wood onto the fire. “Well, business has been very prosperous in Scotland, and most of the acquisition of goods is maintained by the men I employ to captain my ships. I hardly need to leave Scotland.” The flames grew brighter and he risked another glance at Monika. Firelight cast brassy highlights on her dark-chocolate hair spilling from under her kerchief and down her back. “Business has become so prosperous, I’m looking to modestly expand my territories.”

“I hope you have friends within the guild.” Monika poured water into the pot. “I’ve overheard some talk in Vollstadt amongst the traders. The Hansa League is still very territorial in spite of their diminishing influence.”

A woman who keeps her ears open to the local business. And her vocabulary proved she was well educated. Surprising for a peasant woman. Broderick smiled. “Aye, I have strong enough contacts, so that won’t be an issue. Perhaps this added business can help your little village thrive. The wharf in Vollstadt seems large enough to accommodate my needs. I can make efforts to ensure the people in your village have plenty of opportunities.”

Grasping the cauldron by the wire handle, she carried it to the hearth and set it on the brick ledge. “Our little community could benefit from the work, that’s for certain.”

“Good. Since I have only just arrived yesterday, I haven’t made any other contacts but you. Do you feel comfortable introducing me to people?”

“Of course.”

He gazed at her, and she at him, for a long stretch of moments. Those eyes. Could Malloren be right?

A man who treats me with respect. Monika was the first to look away, touching her neck self-consciously and blushing again. “I apologize for my gawking behavior. I just can’t overcome the feeling we have met before. Forgive me.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. “The feeling is mutual, Fräulein Konrads. There’s no need to apologize.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling in a familiar way that made his breath hitch. Using the wire handle, Monika hung the cooking pot on the fireplace crane and swung the cauldron over the flames.

Every move she made, each mannerism—the turn of her head, the way she sauntered across the room to fetch a wooden spoon, the quirk of her lips when she caught him staring at her—all mirrored the familiar movements and gestures of his wife, dead these eighty years. And yet so many things about her were not Davina. Her boldness in speaking her mind and being so honest about feeling she’d met him before, the way she flirted with her eyes and stood close when she worked around him to create the infusion, touching her hand upon his waist as she passed him while he stoked the fire. Monika had a light, breezy and unguarded demeanor, so unlike Davina’s cautiousness and reserved posture.

She glanced around the kitchen, shrugged and then pulled a pair of small wooden chairs forward, inviting him to join her by the hearth. “We just need to let the brew simmer for a bit.” She sat and crossed her legs under the simple blue skirt she wore. “Had you heard about werewolves, or were you unfortunate enough to encounter one upon your arrival?” It is the cycle of the moon. He may have encountered Thomas…or Papa.

Broderick settled into the chair and regarded her with a scrunched brow. Her father was a werewolf? “This topic of supernatural beings seems commonplace for you, milady.”

She crossed her arms as she seemingly weighed her words. “I am no stranger to the supernatural, Herr MacDougal. My grandmother and mother have handed down stories and traditions of many such creatures. Werewolves that are cursed, some that are born—like the Norse shapeshifters to the east—and their counterparts who feed off the spirit of people. And then there are Vamsyrians who drink blood and the fae who—”

“Vamsyrians?” Broderick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

She sobered and her spine stiffened. “Perhaps this is not proper conversation for someone I have just met. I know these topics make many uneasy, especially in these times of inquisition and accusations. Thankfully, the Roman Catholic Church is not as influential around here as it is in the south. Again, I beg your forgiveness. This familiarity with you is very compelling.” She diverted her eyes to the hearth and stoked the fire with the poker, occasionally biting her bottom lip in a nervous gesture. Behave yourself, girl. You still don’t know anything about him and he might be quick to cry witch!

“I am very interested in this topic and intrigued by what you know.”

She cast a him wary gaze. Watch what you say!

Fear filled the air between them and images of men and women being hung, drowned and burned at the stake flashed before Broderick. “Judging by the fear in your lovely eyes, I’m guessing you think I’m trying to coerce you into admitting heresy.” The corner of his mouth turned up and he reached forward to take the poker from her fidgeting grip. He set the tool aside and held her hands in his. Through their touch, Broderick willed peace and calm into her, persuading her to relax. “I assure you, I have no love of the Church. The last thing I want is for you to be afraid of me.”

Her shoulders dropped a margin. A smile graced her lips and she nodded. “I’ve never seen any of the trials, but I have heard horrible accounts from travelers who have come through Vollstadt. They’re enough to make anyone leery of simple intentions.”

Reluctantly, Broderick released her hands and sat back again. “Understood, so perhaps I should make myself just as vulnerable to you. I, too, know of Vamsyrians and werewolves and am very familiar with the supernatural myself. I was surprised to hear you seem to have personal experience with them. And yes, I did encounter a werewolf my first night in Kostbar.”

She sat erect again, interest sharpening her gaze. “What happened? You weren’t bitten, were you?”

“Oh, nay, certainly not. The beast charged at me and I wounded it. It ran off into the woods.”

“Wounded it?” Her brows scrunched. “There’s only one weapon that would harm a werewolf.”

“Aye, silver.” Broderick tugged the handle of his sword and unsheathed about eight inches of the blade. “And before you ask me what I’m doing with such a weapon, let us just say I’ve had my fair share of dealing with the supernatural myself.” He slid his sword back home into its sheath.

“How badly did you wound the werewolf?”

Only then did Broderick realize the connection. He may very well have wounded her father, even come close to killing him. He was very glad he had reconsidered and let the beast go. “I’m not sure, milady. It went limping off into the woods, but I don’t believe it was a mortal wound.”

Monika sat back in her chair and nodded. Thank you, Lord and Lady! “I’m relieved you weren’t hurt. Not many can say they’ve walked away from a werewolf attack. You’re very brave.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say brave, but thank you nonetheless.” Broderick winked at her.

Her cheeks flushed. “So what do you know of Vamsyrians? I saw quite a reaction from you when I said the name.”

Broderick trod lightly. “They are immortal. They are also known as the Blood of the Cursed, since they are created by Satan. And, as you said, they feed off the blood of mortals to sustain themselves.”

She frowned. “I had not heard they were called the Blood of the Cursed or created by Satan, but I suppose that might make sense. Other than that, we seem to have similar information.”

“Where did you hear of Vamsyrians?”

“My parents and grandmother, just as I did about werewolves and many of the other things I mentioned. Being healers, we are sought out for charms and potions to protect people from such creatures.”

“I notice you don’t call them monsters.”

Sadness softened her eyes. “As I understand it, people with these afflictions are not given a choice, or they feel they have no other choice, to become what they are.”

Mayhap Monika would indeed be accepting of the idea—her soul being reborn from a previous life experience with him; and the fact he was one of the “afflicted” she was so sympathetic toward. But now most certainly was not the time to open a candid discussion about the nature of his being or their past relationship. If anything, it was too fast for Broderick. He needed time to adjust.

Monika grabbed a thick cloth from a hook and swung the fireplace crane to check the brew. “I think this is done.”

“I’ll do that for you.” Broderick took the cloth from her hand and their fingers briefly brushed against each other. He clenched his jaw against the wave of lust coursing through his limbs. After unhooking the cooking pot from the iron arm, he set the simmering infusion on the sideboard along the right wall. He stepped away and let her examine the brew.

Broderick peeked over her shoulder as she poked at the wilted plant in the water with a wooden spoon. “Just a little time to let it cool,” she said, and then whirled around and slammed into his chest with an “Oomph!” He caught her before she fell back. “Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry! I had no inkling you were right behind me!” She clutched his arms while she spewed apologies.

“Nay, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have…” Broderick stopped speaking because she kept rambling explanations, obviously thoroughly embarrassed by the clumsy encounter. He chuckled and then laid a finger over her lush mouth. “All is well.”

Wide-eyed and awe-struck, Monika gazed up at him.

The scent of her blood wafted between them and swirled with her desire, drifting from her like a perfume. Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips and Broderick’s mouth watered. The Hunger surfaced and he closed his eyes to ensure she didn’t see the silver glow. “Fräulein Konrads, I—”

Monika slipped her fingers into his hair, pressing the back of his head to pull him to her. Their lips met…and Broderick was lost. She smelled of lavender and tasted of honey…tasted of Davina. She kissed like his wife—the same nibbling of his lower lip, the way she traced her tongue around his mouth, exploring, seeking. When she opened her mouth to him, he was helpless to resist and slid his tongue between her lips, delving deep. His hands smoothed down her sides, his thumbs tempted to brush the swell of her breasts, but he fought the indulgence. He snaked his arms around her torso and pulled her against his chest, lifting her in his embrace while he feasted on her mouth.

“I’ll just be a minute. Sit with him until I return.”

Broderick broke from the knee-buckling kiss and set Monika at arm’s length before the woman he met in the courtyard stepped through the door.

Monika gasped, adjusted her kerchief, which had gone askew, and smiled. “Good evening, Edda.”

“Good evening.” The older woman glared for just a moment at Monika before she flashed a bright smile. “Michael is having a difficult time sleeping tonight.” She held up a small potted pitcher. “I thought I would warm some milk for him.”

Monika drew her bottom lip between her teeth and suppressed a smile. I guess she must have seen us. She hugged her midsection.

Had Edda come to the door before she’d made her “announcement”? With his immortal hearing, Broderick had a hard time believing as much, but considering how lost he was in that kiss…perhaps he was deaf to everything around him. The thought unnerved him, because he was always the same around Davina, too.

Edda grabbed a small pot and poured some milk into it. “I’m glad to see you two have already started a fire.” She hung the pot on the crane and grabbed the cloth to handle the metal while she adjusted the height.

“Herr MacDougal, this is Frau Schmied,” Monika introduced.

Broderick held out his hand. When Edda placed her fingers in his grasp, he bowed and kissed her knuckles. “A pleasure to meet you, milady.”

Edda gawked for a moment, darting her eyes between Broderick and Monika, then retrieved her hand and sat in one of the chairs, pretending to watch her milk. Lord have mercy, what a charmer!

Broderick fought a chuckle.

“The infusion is too warm for us to handle at the moment,” Monika told him. “We’ll need to wait just a little longer for it to cool.”

Broderick nodded, then regarded Edda. “Frau Schmied …your husband is the blacksmith, then?” Her surname meant just that—blacksmith or forger.

“Yes, he is.” Edda shifted in her seat and faced Broderick, smiling. “And what brings you to our little village, Herr MacDougal? With a name and accent such as yours, I would wager you are not from around here.”

“Nay, madam, I am not.” He crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow and a grin. “I come from a faraway land filled with monstrous beasts.”

Edda and Monika looked at each other and burst into laughter.

* * * * *

“Confess the truth now,” Angus Campbell coaxed in the crude, Germanic language, raising his arms for effect. “And I will set this innocent one free.” He stood between the two members of the Army of Light, who squirmed under his conditions. The crowd roared behind them, antagonizing the three heretics tied to the stakes, bundles of wood stacked at their feet.

The man named Peter tugged at his shackles, his face flushing crimson and eyes filling with tears. “You are an Inquisitor! Why are you trying to expose us?”

The woman Helga sobbed. “The Army of Light is faithful to the Church,” she protested. “We serve the Church and—”

“You are heretics!” He leaned forward and hissed, “I have seen your people harboring protection for Vamsyrians! Where is your order? Where are they housed? This is your last chance to confess.”

Peter clenched his jaw, but remained silent in his defiance. Helga wept. These two were just a means to an end. Angus already had what he wanted from them. The theatrics of the witch trial were a method to cover his tracks.

Helga simpered and regarded the girl tied to the stake at her side.

“She doesn’t have to die, Helga.” Angus strolled closer to the weeping woman. Dirt and tears stained her cheeks. Her plain, ragged tunic was soiled with nervous sweat and grime from the many times she had been on her knees, begging for mercy.

He lifted his blood-stained boot to rest upon the large bundle of twigs. “You have the power to set her free.”

Though she tried to avoid Angus’s scrutiny, she seemed almost helpless to prevent her gaze from dropping to him.

He wore his best expression of sympathy and compassion. “Don’t let her blood be on your hands. Reveal to me where your order is housed and, I promise, you and the girl will have the protection of the Bishop.”

“Helga, no! He lies! We are already sentenced. He cannot take us down.” Peter grunted as he yanked at the chains and cuffs pulling his arms over his head.

“Peter just wants you to suffer with him. You are doing the work of God by exposing this group of heretics.”

“Father Opfer,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to go to hell over this woman’s soul. I don’t want an innocent to die!”

“Sister Schuld, remember your oath.” Peter smiled through his tears. “You have the protection of God and will be in His arms this day. Do not listen to the lies of this man.”

Helga sagged forward, sobbing and nodding. While they were his captives, Angus had tainted their bodies, making their blessed blood harmless to him, thereby enabling him to feed and learn what they knew. But they would have resumed their routine of blessing their food and drink, so her tears and perspiration would be volatile once more. Angus donned his blood-red, lambskin gloves before he clambered up onto the pyre and grabbed Helga’s cheeks, forcing her to face him.

“Why are you wearing…?” Peter gasped. “You are the Blood of the Cursed.”

Angus leapt from Helga’s pyre to Peter’s and punched him across the jaw, rendering him unconscious. Angus leaned forward. “I can’t have you reciting the incantation, now, can I?”

The corner of his mouth turned up in satisfaction as the crowd cried louder for the fires to be lit. Trier proved to be a ravenous audience. Helga wailed. Angus ripped a strip of cloth from Peter’s tunic and secured the gag in his mouth.

Peter shook his head and raised it, grinning, red staining the cloth. “Da shilber gwow in yow eyesh gibes you away, Bamsyrian,” he mumbled over the gag. “Dey bill shee you burned.”

Angus chuckled and pulled the hood of his black, woolen cloak over his head. “Light them!” he called over his shoulder, and strolled from the scene, his back to the crowd, ensuring they never saw the evidence of The Hunger in his eyes.

The victims’ tortured screams, mixed with the licking flames and roaring crowd, echoed past him and into the surrounding forests.

The bishop will be pleased to know two more betrayers have been eliminated.

* * * * *

“That’s enough!” Monika screeched and covered Edda’s mouth, both of the women laughing as Edda fought to shove Monika’s hands away. “No more ridiculous stories about my childhood! You’re fabricating half of them!”

Broderick threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Only half? Those were so far-fetched, I thought for sure all of them were fabricated.”

“Oh, she was a sprite when she was a girl!” Edda said, when she’d finally grabbed Monika’s wrists. “Her grandmother said the faeries stole the real Monika from her crib and left this imp in her place.” Edda rose from her chair and popped Monika’s behind before she snatched the warm milk already poured back into the potted pitcher. “I best bring this to Michael so the poor dear can get some sleep.” She hugged Monika and left the kitchen house with a cackle.

Grinning, Monika shook her head and rolled her eyes. “The woman thrills at embarrassing me.” She shuffled to the hearth and set to the task of putting out the fire.

Broderick gazed admiringly at her in the dying light, warmth filling his heart. He was glad she had people like Edda in her life. “Shows how much she loves you.”

“That she does.” Monika collected their items from the sideboard, handing Broderick the jug of wolfsbane and his hat. “As I said, just paint the infusion on the rails and around the doors and window frames of your ship. You should be safe.” She then handed him the sack containing the sachets she created from the plant they strained and blotted. “Be sure these are dry before you and your crew carry them on your person.”

“Thank you for taking the time to do this. I know you didn’t have to.” Replacing his hat upon his head, he ushered her out the door and Monika grabbed the lamp before they stepped out onto the wide path. They exchanged stolen glances at each other on the short walk back to her cottage.

Monika brushed a few tendrils of hair from her cheeks, glancing about as if seeking an interesting topic to discuss. Broderick didn’t want to leave, but could find no other proper excuse to stay.

I wish he could stay longer, but… Gods! Just being around him feels so…right. Please let him be the one.

He smiled, pleased she had the same thoughts. But if he tarried any longer, he might regret his actions. This couldn’t be rushed. He had to make peace with his past. “How much do I owe you for the wolfsbane?”

“Oh, well, people in our village usually pay with favors or food.”

“And at the moment, I have neither. Your assistance has put me in debt to you.” Broderick reached into his sporran and produced a few silver coins. “I don’t have the local currency, but English silver has been accepted everywhere so far. Will this do?”

Her full lips parted and she nodded. “Um, yes. Thank you.” She stepped forward and accepted the coins.

The color blooming in her face was too endearing for him to resist. He trailed a curled index finger along her jawline. “Aye…the blush in your cheeks is very flattering, lass.” Of course that brought an onslaught of bright scarlet to her skin and the scent of her blood was almost his undoing. “I will bid you good evening, Fräulein Konrads.”

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, near begging for Broderick to kiss their plump, redness again. Thankfully, she stepped back and hugged her midsection. “Good evening.” Suppressing a smile, she turned and opened her cottage door.

“I will be occupied during the day on the morrow, but might I call again after sunset?”

The thrumming of her heart tempted him to lean toward her, but he stood his ground. He needed to get away from this siren before he lost control. And the barrier was still up around her house.

“Yes, I would like that.”

Broderick bowed. “I will count the hours.”

She covered her lips with her fingertips, hiding a husky flutter of laughter. “Good night, sir.” He winked and, just before she closed the door, she placed the pitcher and lamp on the table and stepped back outside into the night. “Do you believe in fate? In destiny?”

Broderick crossed his arms—the jug and sack of sachets dangling from his hands by his ribs—and searched the sky, as if he might find the answers there. “I never wanted to. I didn’t like the idea of not being in control to choose my own path.” He rested his gaze upon her lovely, heart-shaped face and bow-like mouth. Then he disappeared into her sapphire eyes, which sparkled with hope. “But there are recent events that have made me reconsider my opinion.”

Monika glided forward and rested her hot hands upon his forearm. “I most certainly believe in fate,” she said in a throaty whisper. “And I think you and I were destined to meet.” She rose on her tiptoes and Broderick met her lips for a delicate taste. “Good night, Herr MacDougal.”

Like the sprite she was fabled to be, Monika flitted into her cottage, mischief dancing in her eyes.

Broderick stared longingly at the door, her kiss still burning on his lips, her scent still enflaming his loins. Was he merely missing intimate contact with someone or was she really his wife? No woman stirred an ache in his soul like Davina…and now Monika. Guilt spread like molten lead poured onto his chest. The last thing he wanted was to betray the love of his wife. She may be dead, but his heart still beat for her. This was why his friend Laurent had sworn never to fall in love. Why Vamsyrians were called the Blood of the Cursed.

He marched away from her cottage and, once out of the village, he dashed up the road to Vollstadt, slowing down when he reached the edge of town. Arriving back at his ship, he smiled at Paddy and Rob on the main deck, laughing and playing their instruments. Paddy blew into his flute and Rob stroked his violin, the two obviously drunk.

“I thought I gave Andrew orders for you lads to go into town and do this.” Broderick hopped onto deck as they craned their necks toward him.

Rob noticed the jug in Broderick’s hand. “Have you brought some real drink on board, Cap’n?”

“Aye, all they have is beer in this village,” Paddy protested.

Broderick chuckled. “Nay, ’tis not spirits, but you lads are welcome to a cask of Scotch in the hold.”

“Are ye sure?” Rob asked, but still rose as if to ready to fetch the barrel once the word was given. “We only have two left.”

Rick nodded. “Aye, go ahead.”

“Hoo!” Rob trotted to the hatch and threw it open.

Broderick turned to Paddy. “I have a strange request for you.”

He crossed his arms and his brows rose, creating several creases up his forehead. “And that’s unusual for you?”

Chuckling, Broderick handed Paddy the jug. “Get some kind of a brush and paint this on the rails and around our doors and windows of the ship. And don’t let it touch your skin while it’s wet. Use gloves or it will burn you.”

Rob hoisted the cask onto the deck and climbed out of the hatch. “So what’s actually in the jug, Cap’n?”

“It’s an infusion of wolfsbane.”

The two men regarded Broderick with question in their eyes.

“It’s to ward against werewolves,” he explained.

“Och! Werewolves?” Rob frowned. “I’ve heard horrible stories of them beasties. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

“A werewolf’d be no match for the likes of you, Cap’n.” Paddy winked. “But I’ll get this painted around the ship as you say.”

“Good. And if there’s any left, just leave it in my cabin.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Though Broderick had fed for the night, The Hunger had resurfaced when he smelled Monika’s blood, standing so close to her. He decided he’d go for another feeding. “Be ready for anything, lads.”

Rob patted his silver blades on his belt. “I already know silver will hurt a werewolf.”

“Good to know!” Paddy said and ensured his blade was at his hip.

Broderick bid them good night and strode back into the village. Wandering Vollstadt for a while, he eventually came upon and entered The Copper Kettle—the small tavern where he’d met Malloren. Filling the doorway, he assessed the company. Familiar faces, especially the innkeeper’s, glared at him and the room fell silent.

A fairly attractive woman, sitting atop the lap of one of the patrons, was the only one who wore a welcoming expression. Her straight blonde hair streamed over her thin shoulders and she grinned, showing a decent set of teeth. When she tried to rise, the man under her grabbed her hips and pulled her back onto his lap. She frowned and shoved the side of his head. “Oy, now! I goes wit’ who I wants.” Standing, she ambled over to Broderick and said, more for his ears than the rest of the room, “And Aggie wants ’im.”

The beefy innkeeper stomped to the center of the room and raised his fist, but Broderick cast him a warning glance. The man closed his mouth and dropped his arm to his side.

“Come on, love.” She linked her arm with Broderick’s and urged him out the door. “Saves your strength for me. You’ll needs it.”

His intentions were to go into the tavern and wait for someone to leave so he could follow them down a dark street for his feeding. However, the woman on his arm might prove to satisfy another craving and help him discover the root of his yearnings. “Did you have somewhere in mind?”

“Anywhere ya likes, dearie.”

As they ventured farther into the village, he spotted a larger inn bustling with activity, a sign with a red stag hung over the double-wide door. “How about the inn?”

“I’ll gives ya a royal beddin’ in there!” She winked and tapped him playfully on the arm.

Broderick’s size often commanded attention, so he did his best to lay low and navigate his way through the crowd with little incident. “Do you have a room available?” he asked the tall, thin man behind the bar.

The innkeeper assessed Broderick with a critical eye, taking in Aggie as well, and nodded. “I do.”

Broderick tossed several silver coins onto the bar. Aggie ogled the currency. The innkeeper snatched them and dropped them onto a scale, the other brass dish already containing weights. “One more coin and that’ll do it.”

Rick tossed the coin onto the bar and the innkeeper stashed the money in the purse at his waist.

“This way.” The lanky man led them to the staircase at the back of the tavern, guided them down a hall and opened a door to the left. After he nodded to Broderick, he headed back down to the tavern.

Let us find out the truth. Broderick stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Chapter Six

Aggie walked around the inn room, a wide smile on her face and eyes a-glitter. She sat on the bed, easing her bottom onto the mattress, and let out a long sigh. “I’ll sleeps like the dead tonight.” She cast a smoldering gaze at Broderick. “Especially after I gives you a good tumble.” Crooking a finger, she beckoned him to come closer.

Broderick hesitated. His face flushed and his heart hammered in his ears. Bedding wenches and taking their blood was a common practice for him, but that was before he met Davina. The thought of his wife wrenched his chest and he gasped for breath.

“Oy! You ain’t havin’ second thoughts, are ya? A big, handsome man like you?” She sauntered over to him and slid her hands over his tightening chest. “Aggie’ll take care o’ ya. Don’t you fret yourself about nothin’.” She grabbed his groin and rubbed.

Broderick seized her wrist and pulled her hand away. “Sorry, Aggie. That’s not happening tonight. But I’ll be sure to take care of you.” His mouth watered. The familiar pain sliced across his gums as his fangs extended.

Aggie’s jaw dropped open. Sweet merciful God!

Broderick persuaded her with peace and calmed the terror that flowed to the surface, her fear ebbing back like the tide. “Everything’s going to be fine and you’ll forget what happened here tonight.”

She nodded and attempted a smile.

Broderick bent forward and kissed Aggie. He slanted his mouth over hers and she responded with skill and passion. Though the scent of her blood aroused The Hunger, the kiss did nothing for his soul, nor his body. He pulled her into his arms and pressed the length of her against him. She moaned. He cringed. Working his mouth along her jaw and neck, he licked her throat and pierced her flesh, savoring the sweetness of her blood…but nothing more. She near collapsed in his arms as if drunk.

Aggie was a slight woman, so Broderick pulled back from feeding sooner than he would have with other victims. It wouldn’t take draining much blood to harm her. He pierced his thumb with his fang and smeared the healing blood onto her wound, which vanished. Sweeping her limp form into his arms, he carried her to the bed.

“You enjoy that nice soft bed, Aggie.”

She smiled up at him with a hooded gaze. He pressed his palm to her forehead and she closed her eyes and slept. Broderick wiped the experience from her mind. She would only remember coming into the room, their kiss and a small stack of silver coins would be waiting for her on the small bedside table.

Crossing his arms, he strolled to the window and gazed at the full moon through the diamond-shaped leaded panes, the glowing façade wavering through the glass. He had some of his answers. Not just any physical contact would do. His yearning was for Monika and not just for sexual gratification. There was no denying her eyes and mannerisms were hauntingly like Davina’s. But her soul being reborn into another body? The very idea went against everything he had ever known growing up as a boy, going to church, the entire purpose of a Vamsyrian—to trap the soul so it couldn’t ascend to heaven. None of it made sense.

And the fact that Malloren Rune was here, that Monika and her family knew about Vamsyrians and they had the incantation to protect their home…it all screamed of manipulation from a certain prophetess. If she’d ever fed from Davina—not only did the thought cause his fists and jaw to clench, but he couldn’t imagine how she had done so without him knowing—she would have Davina’s memories and would have been able to “give” those memories to Monika. Was Malloren manipulating Monika’s dreams? Was she capable of doing so? Was she capable of giving Broderick dreams? She was a Vamsyrian and bound by the restrictions of day and night, so how could that be achieved? And to what purpose, except to fulfill this asinine prophecy? And yet it was possible for Malloren to sneak up on him without a single sign. Was she capable of other things beyond his reckoning?

Yet Edda Schmied had possibly seen him and Monika kissing and he hadn’t heard a mere mortal. Both times—Malloren’s approach and Edda’s—he was deeply invested in Davina…if Monika was indeed Davina incarnated.

Broderick sighed, exasperated, and raked his finger through his hair. He braced his hands on the window frame and bowed his head, squeezing his eyes tight. “Blossom, I don’t want to betray our love. Is it coincidence she has your eyes? Am I so desperate to be with you that any semblance of who you are is my undoing?” He gazed at the moon, tears dragging down his face. “I miss you. She smells like you. Tastes like you. Kisses like you. Yet she is so unlike you.”

He shook his head and swiped the tears from his face. One thing was for certain, he wouldn’t make any commitments about Monika until he was sure she was indeed Davina.

Aggie sighed and turned over in the bed, drawing Broderick away from his thoughts. He folded the coverlet over her prone figure and left the room. Outside the door, he looked around to be sure no one would witness his “disappearance” and, when all was clear, he dashed down the hall, leapt over the railing of the stairs and spirited through an oblivious crowd to the road outdoors and back to his ship.

* * * * *

Monika hefted the bucket from the well and poured the water into the four potted pitchers she’d set on the stone ledge. The task was routine and allowed her mind to drift through the haze of pleasant thoughts about Broderick and his roguish smile the adorable dimple on his cheek. A miracle. It cannot be coincidence. I know you sent him to me in response to my request, Lord and Lady. He is the voice I’ve heard in my dreams. The sensuous lover with a Scottish accent. Heat rushed to her face. She was a virgin, so could not know for certain the ways of making love, but everything she’d experienced in her dreams seemed real. Surely, that was how it was done and it almost seemed she had already experienced the act. The joys from such an amorous act definitely made her eager to discover the possibilities!

“And just what has you in such a state?”

Monika emerged from her hazy thoughts and chuckled at Irma, who stood with brows raised over curious eyes and her hands cradling her pregnant belly. “You are carrying him lower.” She knelt and rubbed her palms over her friend’s abdomen. “Oma was right, you’ll deliver any day now.”

Irma shoed Monika away. “Don’t change the subject. You had that faraway look.” The young woman, not yet twenty, leaned on the edge of the well. “I heard about the handsome, giant stranger who came into town last night. Edda said he was seeking a healer.”

“Did she now?” Monika grinned and picked up her pitchers, whirling to head back to her cottage. She giggled when Irma waddled after her. Always the gossip, she wouldn’t be able to resist prying information from Monika.

“You cannot leave me thus!” Irma tried to grab the two pitchers Monika had grasped by the handles in her right hand, but Monika pulled them away. Pouting, Irma followed her into the cottage.

Monika chuckled. “There is naught to tell, my curious friend.”

“Oh, is that so? Then why was he seeking a healer?” Irma closed the door behind them and eased into a chair.

Monika set the pitchers on the table.

“Edda said he wasn’t ill…far from it! Searching for an herb he couldn’t find himself. Did he perchance find it on your person when he bestowed this heavenly kiss Edda described?”

Monika placed her hands upon her hips and pursed her lips. “Edda’s tongue does wag!” She sighed. Telling Irma how Broderick sought wolfsbane would bring forth unpleasant memories…and Monika did not want to remind anyone of the last encounter with werewolves—particularly Irma. The death of her husband’s mother—killed by a werewolf—still held a dark cloud over their little village, especially in the aftermath of other attacks. Because Monika’s father always disappeared during the cycle of the moon and no further incidents had happened, she believed her neighbors either chose to ignore his condition or didn’t know. However, if she didn’t give Irma a juicy morsel of information, the girl would persist in fishing for tidbits. Though Monika would make Irma work for it so she’d leave satisfied. “He is a merchant, looking to settle in the area.”

Irma tapped her fingers on the table. “Yes?”

Monika poured a pitcher of water into the barrel in the corner by the hearth. “He deals in fine art and antiquities.”

Irma slapped her hand on the table. “Monika!”

She chuckled. “He also deals in common-good trades, some of which will be herbs.”

“Which herbs?” Irma leaned forward—as much as her condition would allow.

Monika poured two more pitchers into her barrel. “We haven’t discussed them yet.”

Irma crossed her arms and sat back in the chair. “What are you not telling me?”

She whirled around to her childhood friend and placed a hand upon her chest. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I know you, Monika.” She wagged a scolding finger. “There is something you’re holding back.”

Monika pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips, then sighed. “Oh, very well, but I know how you’ll react. You’re already jumping to conclusions.”

Her friend gripped the edge of the table, her eyes filled with anticipation.

“He wanted to know how to repel an unwanted lover,” she lied.

“For certain?” Irma fluttered her fingers with rapt attention. “An unwanted lover! That means he will be looking for another lover.”

“Perhaps, but we did not discuss such matters.” Monika joined Irma at the table.

“So when will he be back to see you?”

Monika smiled. “Sunset this eve.”

Gleeful giggles poured from Irma and she clapped her hands. “Someone finally has the attention of our Monika!”

Monika rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Oh, bother, Irma. I knew you would do this.”

“I have never seen you in such a state. No man has ever caught your attention before, and it hasn’t been for lack of trying. You have a slew of broken hearts in your wake.”

“I have no such thing!” She crossed her arms and pouted. “Need I remind you, no one is courting me?”

“Of course they aren’t because you have turned down all your suitors. You cannot court without one, birdie.” Irma pushed her belly forward as she rose from her chair, a satisfied grin on her face. “I am looking forward to seeing how this develops.” She kissed Monika’s cheek, and rubbed her belly as she waddled out the door, waving over her shoulder. “Tschüsse!”

“Goodbye,” she responded in kind. That worked out better than expected. Tongues would certainly wag for the day, though. She shook her head and smirked, then broke her fast with bread, cheese and small beer. “Now, let us see if we can decipher what you were doing, Mama.”

Monika fetched the parchment with the recipe for the werewolf ward and frowned. The distressing line of the parchment was, “Too tired and distraught to write a full entry.” What had her mother endured before writing that passage?

She pushed her grief aside and focused on the ingredients. Wolfsbane was known for two things: killing wolves and a ward against werewolves. But she wasn’t entirely familiar with the properties of the other herbs as it pertained to magickal uses. Most of her remedies were for health reasons.

Monika plodded into the bedroom near the back entrance, which led into their small rear herb garden. She searched the shelves of the short bookcase by the door. Fingering the worn spines of the precious tomes handed down for several generations, Monika found the book she sought.

She leaned the book into the sunlight streaming through the open shutters and flipped carefully through the yellowed pages, finding the entry for agrimony. “Protection and breaking hexes,” she read. “Used to banish evil and not only breaks a hex, but sends it back to the hexer.” Thumbing through the pages to fumitory, she read, “Exorcism. Used to exorcise evil spirits.” The entry for wood betony read, “Purification. Burned, grown or worn for purification and protection. It is written in the Herbarium Apuleii Platonici the plant protects the wearer’s soul as well as the body.” Just to be thorough, she read the entry on wolfsbane. “Protection. Poisonous. Used not only to ward off werewolves, but also taken by werewolves to cure their condition.” She closed the book and replaced it with a frown. “Then why isn’t the wolfsbane alone enough?”

The words in her mother’s closing comments seemed to flutter and pulse with intention as she reread the passage. “The herbs and the elements are an effective ward…” Katrina seemed to have all bases covered by bringing the four elements into the spell.

Monika sighed and folded the parchment, replacing it in her pouch. Why didn’t it work, Mama?

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Swinging it open, she smiled at her visitor. “Hallo, Gretchen! How does your grandfather fair?” She embraced the red-haired youth and ushered her inside.

“Not well, I’m afraid. I’m here for some more stomach tonic if you have some.” She held up a wrapped bundle. “Fresh bread and rindswurst.”

Monika loved the plump beef sausages Gretchen’s grandfather, Nikolaus, was known for making. “How wonderful! Come visit with me while I make him a batch.”

Monika was not surprised when Gretchen “casually” dropped inquiries about the handsome stranger who had come to call last night. The gossip had already made the circles. Though she had never been the object of such furious jabber sweeping across the village before, she had seen it happen to many others over the years. News always traveled fast. She was going to have a busy day.

As expected, a steady stream of locals had an array of ailments and excuses to drop in and see Monika—from genuine cases to frivolous complaints. She actually didn’t mind. Everyone expressed their sincere wishes that she had finally found a suitable man to court her, and their concern was more than touching. And she had more food and favors than she knew what to do with!

However, she was anxious to return to Vollstadt and work on the translations. The sun had already passed its zenith in the sky, and she still needed to be sure she had time to perform the second of her three-day ritual and be back in time for when Broderick came to call.

She gathered the ingredients detailed in the recipe and placed them and the parchment in her basket and trekked toward Vollstadt. With no one she knew passing her on the road to give her a ride, she entered the bustling village a little more than an hour later. After arriving at The Red Stag, she traipsed up the stairs to Thomas’s room and rapped on the door.

He greeted her with a charming smile framed by his neatly trimmed facial hair and leaned his large frame against the doorjamb. His thick raven hair seemed a bit unruly. “I was worried you weren’t coming back. What a pleasure to see you again, fräulein.” His voice matched his appearance—rough and roguishly handsome.

She nodded, trying to ignore the quivering in her belly, and waited for him to step back from the door so she could enter. He maintained his cocky demeanor, his eyes openly assessing her as they did yesterday. Comely, but arrogant. She cleared her throat. “May I come in, Herr Carr?”

He pushed the door open with his finger, but didn’t budge from his spot. Mischief frolicked in his gaze.

The insufferable flirt wants me to squeeze by him. Monika shoved Thomas aside with an open palm to his chest and his laughter followed behind her. The resounding thud of the door stiffened her spine. She wheeled around and planted her basket on the desk against the wall.

Drawing a steadying breath and releasing, she then allowed a half-smile. “Let us get to business, shall we?”

Thomas nodded and crossed his arms, that charming grin still curving his lips.

“I’ve done a little studying of the notes and the recipe for the ward,” she explained. “As you read yesterday, my mother chose four herbs that have the properties of the four elements. They work together to ward a person from a werewolf and prevent the one cursed from transforming in their presence. However, as we also read, the herbs will kill the one cursed if they wear the ward.

“The only thing I can deduce at this point is my mother was using the combination of the herbs and elements toward purging the werewolf condition. I noticed four properties in the herbs selected for the recipe: protection, exorcism, hex-breaking and purification.” Monika bit her lower lip in thought. “She may have been trying to protect the one cursed from the werewolf condition,” she mused, then shrugged. “I won’t know until I translate more of the text.” Tossing back the cloth covering her basket, she removed the wrapped bundles of herbs she’d gathered. “The ingredients for the recipe, as you requested.”

“Much obliged.” He examined the wrapped plants. “And which one is which?”

She laid them on the center table and described their contents, then laid the scrap of parchment with the recipe onto the table. “I don’t need to tell you to be careful with the wolfsbane, but the other herbs are harmless.”

He smirked and leaned close to her. “I’m flattered you’re so concerned with my well-being.” His gravelly voice was low and seductive.

She crossed her arms. “Don’t be, Herr Carr. I’m a healer, remember? My concern extends to everyone I help.”

He chuckled. “Then I won’t keep you from your task.” Thomas gathered his satchel and strode toward the door. “It is later in the day, so unfortunately I won’t be gone but a few hours. I’ll return early enough before sunset to pay you before I lock myself up for the evening.” That roguish grin appeared and his eyes raked over her body. Monika frowned. Thomas winked, dipped his head in farewell and left the room.

“Impossible man.” She huffed and sat at the desk where the book awaited her. Her anger easily dissipated once she lost herself in the pages of her mother’s script. Due to the limited amount of time, she focused on finding the notes regarding the werewolf curse and wrote as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, Thomas returned in no time.

“And how did milady fare with her transcriptions today?”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t make as much progress as I would have liked.” She stood and sighed, flipping through the loose papers to organize them.

“Then I am very fortunate I will have the pleasure of your company for another day.”

His deep, throaty voice sent flutters through her stomach and she repressed a grin, thankful her back was to him. He most certainly doesn’t need any more encouragement to be a rogue. “Well, I can see why Marcus may have been a little frustrated by the process.” She gathered the last of the papers and stacked them neatly beside the book, then faced Thomas. “My mother had tried various concoctions with wolfsbane, from weak to strong, and had Marcus ingest them.”

Thomas cringed. “That must have been very painful.” The muscles at his jaw ticked.

“Yes, and she quickly stopped those experiments because of his discomfort.”

“I wonder how quickly, though.”

His steel gray eyes pierced her across the room and icy prickles danced up her spine. “I’m sure my mother wouldn’t have condoned torture as a means to an end, Herr Carr.”

His gaze softened. “Of course not. I can just imagine the pain he must have endured, perhaps even resisted showing some of the discomfort to obtain the cure. He seemed very desperate when I met him.”

“Your accounts certainly lead me to the same conclusion.” Twisting around to the desk again, she thumbed through the pages. “Sadly, the cure for the curse might actually be death, but only because the werewolf is still mortal and not invincible. The wolfsbane drains him of his regenerative abilities, so he is unable to withstand the effects of the poison. Mayhap she meant these other ingredients to separate the cursed from the condition but didn’t have a way to heal him.” When she turned around, she recoiled from his nearness and dropped the paper she’d found. She had been so invested in searching, she hadn’t noticed him crossing the room to stand right behind her. With the desk now at her back, she had nowhere to retreat, but stood her ground, jutting her chin forward.

He nodded and raised his brows. “I think you’re on to something, my dear.” Thomas unfurled a rakish grin and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Your eyes hold a lovely radiance as you unravel this mystery. Do you have any idea how irresistible it makes you?”

Monika pushed Thomas aside and stepped away, but he gripped her arm, drawing her shoulder against his chest.

“You can stop pretending there is nothing between us, Monika.” Though he whispered, his words rasped with a harsh edge. “I can smell your desire.”

“I’m afraid you misunderstand, Herr Carr.” She tried to tug free, but he maintained his hold. She narrowed her eyes and used a clear level voice to convey her intentions. “I don’t know what you think you smell, but desire is certainly not what I feel for you. Need I remind you I hold a certain loathing for what you are? A werewolf destroyed my family. I am hardly eager to jump into bed with one.”

“I guess I do need to remind you,” he responded with the same clear voice, “that I have the book.”

“I’ve made myself very clear my services in the healing arts are for sale, not I. I’m sure the innkeeper can find you a willing woman.” She wrenched her arm from his grasp and backed away. “Use your gold for that.”

Thomas glared at her for several moments, tension building between them. But he dragged in a deep breath, his eyes softened and he dropped his gaze. “Please forgive me,” he offered, his voice abrasive. “It’s in the nature of a wolf to claim what he wants, especially a mate.” He walked to his satchel on the table, produced a gold coin and tossed it onto the desk beside her basket. “You’ve done well. Your pay, as promised. I’m sure you can show yourself out.” He turned his back to her.

Monika snatched her basket, the gold and the papers and hurried from the room. Racing down the stairs, she marched through the tavern area of the inn, but slammed into a wiry frame. She nearly toppled backward if it wasn’t for the bony hands that seized her shoulders and held her steady. Her basket, the gold coin and papers scattered to the wooden floor.

“Hey, now sweetheart.” The innkeeper set her to rights and chuckled. “Got paid for your services and running out to the door to your next client?”

Monika’s face burned with humiliation as the witnessing patrons chuckled at his obvious implications. There was no use in arguing. The first moment he saw her, this man had made up his mind about what she was. She dropped to her knees to collect her items.

“Right here in the tavern, love?” He roared with laughter and the others joined in a chorus of mockery. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

Her fingers fumbled and dropped everything she tried to pick up, her tears blurring whatever her hands scrambled to grasp.

“Here, let me help you.” The innkeeper crouched beside her, but made no move to assist. Instead, he watched her with amusement on his smug face.

She snatched her gold piece and shoved it into her bodice.

“Oh, and you were paid well. You must be better than I thought. If you conduct business here, I expect a piece of the profits.” The innkeeper reached forward and caressed her cleavage.

Monika gasped and cracked her palm against the side of his face. She grunted when he seized her wrist and they both glared at each other.

“Come on, Otto,” one of the patrons complained. “She ain’t—”

“That’s enough!” Jason Kiefer, the young man Monika met the day before, grabbed the innkeeper and yanked him to his feet. He was fairly tall to begin with, but the wide-brimmed hat on his head added to his height and his breadth was definitely no match for the lanky man in his grasp.

Otto cocked his fist back and grabbed Jason’s shirt in the other hand. “Watch it, boy! I’ll—”

Jason shoved him backward with such force, the innkeeper toppled over table and chairs. “You’ll keep your hands off her, is what you’ll do.”

Otto scrambled to his feet and cast a chair aside, stomping toward Jason, who curled his arms, readying his fists for a fight. The two men glared at each other, Otto breathing heavy but with doubt tempering the anger in his eyes. He snarled down at Monika before he glanced around the room. “She wouldn’t survive a tumble with me anyhow.” The patrons laughed and he stalked off toward the bar.

Monika finished snatching up her papers and basket and scampered outside onto High Street without a backward glance. Jason was close on her heels. The warm breeze greeting her face chilled the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Fräulein, wait!” Jason grabbed her arm. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“No, I’m unharmed.” She paced, fighting the tears that demanded an audience.

“Aren’t you even going to thank me?” Jason crossed his arms and frowned.

She hitched her breath and clenched her fists. “Thank you? I appreciate you coming to my aid, but in all honesty I am very suspicious of your intentions.”

“What do you mean? A man comes to the aid of a woman in trouble and is questioned?”

“Forgive my distrust,” she snapped. “But your presence was very timely. As if you were lying in wait.”

Jason’s face flushed crimson and his mouth opened. Bowing his head, he nodded. “Actually, I was waiting for you. You see, I’m an apprentice at the barrel shop.” He pointed to the said shop across from the inn. “I saw you when you entered the inn. You’re so beautiful. I just had to meet you, so I ran after you to say hello, but you had already gone upstairs to see your…client.” He avoided her gaze and kicked at a stone on the ground. “I decided to wait for you.” Extending his hand, he said, “I’m Jason Kiefer.”

Had to meet me? He wasn’t making any sense as they’d met the day before. “I was in there for hours. You waited the entire time?”

“Oh, well, I couldn’t wait the entire time, so I kept checking back…often.” He shrugged. “Just when I was about to give up, I checked one last time and saw the innkeeper grab your wrist.”

She tapped her toe and regarded his hazel-gold eyes, then heaved a sigh. “Thank you for coming to my aid.”

A smile brightened his face. “Shall I walk you home?”

Monika felt nothing for this young man—in fact, she begrudged all men at this moment, save one particular Scotsman—so she didn’t want to lead him into believing she had any interest. She glanced away, trying to think of a nice way of telling him no, when she spied the innkeeper glaring at her from the behind the inn. She snapped her gaze back to Jason. “Yes, thank you. I think I would feel safer if you escorted me home.”

Jason proffered his arm and she reluctantly accepted. Once they were far enough from Vollstadt, she would have to disappoint him further down the road. She hoped the innkeeper wouldn’t give chase if he saw Jason return to the village without her.

The sun hung low in the sky, so she picked up her pace.

“Don’t you want to enjoy a nice stroll? And by the way, you didn’t tell me your name.” He took longer strides to keep up with her.

She stopped and faced him, frowning. “Do you not remember meeting me yesterday?”

“Oh, I would remember meeting you. You’re too beautiful to forget.”

Monika raised her brows. The man has lost his wits. I most certainly should stay clear of him. “Um…Monika Konrad. Actually, I still have plenty of work to finish before I lose the daylight. You said you worked at the barrel shop as an apprentice?”

“Yes! I’ve just begun. I moved to Vollstadt only seven months ago. The owner of the shop is my uncle.” Jason rattled on and on about how his father was a farmer and how little that interested him. Monika smiled and nodded as he droned on about working with his hands and what skills were required to make barrels and what barrels were used for and how versatile they were and so forth and so on. He was so involved in talking about his learned profession that he didn’t seem to notice her checking over her shoulder. Nor did he notice the innkeeper had followed them for almost a mile before he finally turned around and went back to Vollstadt.

She didn’t want poor Jason to have another unnecessary altercation with Otto, so she allowed him to walk her to her cottage. She surmised the distance would give Jason enough time to return to his shop without encountering the innkeeper.

“Thank you very much for walking me home. I feel safer already.” She grinned and reached for the handle of the door.

“Will you return to Vollstadt on the morrow? To see your client?” His eyes were full of hope.

The poor young man just wasn’t a good match, though he certainly was trying very hard to be so. “Herr Kiefer, I don’t—”

“I understand.” A sheepish grin dulled the sparkle in his eyes. “It’s too soon to be making any commitments. I hope to see you again, though. I’ll be watching.”

Irma waddled toward them from across the courtyard, a raised eyebrow. She had a knowing grin.

“Thank you again. Good day.” Monika opened her cottage door and stepped inside while Jason departed.

Irma followed Monika into the cottage and closed the door behind her. “And just who was that?”

Monika groaned and put her basket on the table, flopping into a chair. “Oh some young man who seems to fancy me very much, but whom I have no interest in at all.”

Irma joined Monika at the table, easing into a chair. “Why not?”

“For one, he tries too hard, and two, we met yesterday and he completely forgot. Three, he’s more interested in himself and what he wants versus being aware of my needs.”

“Ah, now I understand why you are still not wed.” Irma’s firm-set mouth and sharp eyes appeared as if she’d just solved the mystery of the world.

“Pray, tell me your wisdom on this topic.” Monika pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

“You expect too much of men.” She leaned forward with emphasis. “Do you honestly think any man is aware of what a woman wants? What she needs? ’Tis the greatest mystery of the ages for all men. They will never understand us, nor will we understand them.”

Monika laughed. “Perhaps you are correct.”

“And this means you have two men who are now courting your favor.”

“Actually, three.” She glowered and shared with Irma about Thomas’s overt advances, but left out the werewolf information. “I am there to write healing remedies for his ailing father,” she lied. “And he thinks he can take liberties with me.” She shuddered. “You’re correct. Men only think of their own needs.” However, Broderick came to mind and the anger melted from her body.

“Wait…what is that?”

Monika’s brows rose. “What is what?”

“Your entire mood just changed. You had that same look on your face this morning at the well.” Irma gasped and tapped Monika’s hand. “The merchant! You just thought of that handsome Scotsman, didn’t you?”

Monika suppressed a smile. “He might be the one man in this world who does anticipate my needs. You should have seen him last night, how he helped me with the fire in the kitchen house and handled the hot cauldron for me.”

“Why were you in the kitchen house? Edda told me you were making him some kind of infusion. Could you not have made that here?”

“He refused to compromise my reputation and go into my house alone with me.” She grinned with pride. “He was a complete gentleman and treated me like a high-born lady, I tell you.”

Irma’s eyes grew wide. “How delightful! That is rare indeed. You hold on to that one, birdie.” She leaned on the table to rise, but Monika waved her to sit back down.

“Let me see how you fare.” Monika probed Irma’s belly, pushing and pressing, nodding her head and smiling. “He’s in the right position. I wouldn’t be surprised if you birthed in the next day or so.” She helped Irma out of the chair and planted a kiss on her cheek.

Irma glanced through the shutters. “I have a few chores before I lose the daylight.”

Monika gasped. “Oh, so do I. Don’t overtax yourself unless you’re ready to birth him.”

“Very ready.” She groaned. “I’m just going to walk some supper up to Papa Josef and Hans. They’re building a new stall for Helga’s calf, which isn’t such a calf anymore.”

“So soon?”

Irma smiled. “Yes, which means you’ll be helping me churn more when she’s of age!” She chuckled and waddled out the door.

Monika laughed at her departing friend, then hurried around the cottage to gather the supplies she needed for the second day of her ritual. Though she believed Father God and Mother Earth had granted her request for a soul mate in Broderick, she would use the last two scheduled days of the ritual for thanksgiving and celebration, ensuring she stayed faithful in her commitment to the ceremony. Now that she had Broderick on which to concentrate her spirit, she hoped it would redirect the results to him specifically instead of all this unwanted attention from these other men that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

At sunset, Broderick would come to call. She smiled and breathed deep, anticipation bubbling in her belly.

* * * * *

Thomas slowed to a stop as Monika emerged from the small cottage at the corner of the town platz. She held her basket on her forearm and a few blankets over her shoulder, her dark-brown hair cascading out of the back of the simple blue kerchief on her head. A few stray tendrils brushed against her cheek as she leaned into the cottage and closed the door behind her, drawing his eyes to her full, red lips. He had bided his time at the inn, giving Monika the opportunity to go home and settle in for a couple of hours. Wonderful timing, my dear. He strutted forward, making a small effort to keep a casual pace. Though he was eager to engage with her, he didn’t want to appear so. But she turned away from him and clipped through the platz toward the road disappearing into the forest. She hadn’t even seen him.

He frowned. With a quick glance around the empty platz, he approached the dwelling and peeked into the window, leaning on the sill. Thomas grew weak and his legs wobbled, dropping him to one knee. He backed away from the cottage and glared at the dwelling. The lethargy passed and he wondered if she had already concocted the ward from her mother’s recipes.

His mouth pressed into a grim line. Women didn’t resist him. It was just a simple fact. Monika was no different. Every time she came near, her thick scent of lust enveloped him. Because Monika knew of his condition, he was certain that was the only thing getting in the way of their coupling. He could understand her apprehensions about being involved with the type of creature that tore her family apart. Once she found the cure, though, his condition would no longer be an obstacle. Monika seemed to be a woman who stood by her convictions, so she would betray her own sensibilities if she considered becoming involved with him. Her resistance did make the chase a bit sweeter. Let her play her games. I’ll have her begging to fuck me before this is over. He grinned. Monika had already rounded the bend in the road, so he traipsed casually after her.

He stuck to the road and kept his footsteps light, even though she had diverted from the main path and into the woods. As she traversed deeper into the brush, he caught glimpses of her dark waves and blue kerchief peeking through the branches and trunks, but it was becoming more difficult to keep an eye on her. When he was relatively sure he was far enough away from her to remain unannounced, he crossed into the brush and gingerly pursued.

Was she perhaps gathering more herbs for the work he’d commissioned her for? The determined pace she’d set told him she had a definite purpose. What he hoped to gain by following her, he couldn’t guess at this moment. Mayhap to satisfy his curiosity. He’d originally planned to pay her a visit to meet on her grounds, to use her own surroundings to help her feel more comfortable around him. He was going to offer another apology, for her benefit, to hopefully smooth things over. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. The subtle desire flaring in her eyes whenever she looked at him was obvious. Soon enough. She was close to a cure. He knew it.

Thomas ducked behind a bush. Monika had stopped by a coppice, behind which she disappeared. The crackling of branches and leaves hissed and snapped around the forest. What is she doing? During the ruckus of activity, he crouched and crept closer, positioning himself for a better view, and settled behind a cluster of bushes. He was only a few feet from the line of dense trees that seemed to surround a small clearing, which was the object of Monika’s attention. Using a short branch like a broom, she brushed the ground of leaves and sticks, wiping the area clean.

He leaned to and fro to find the best angle in which to see her, careful not to rattle the brush. A nice parting between the trunks afforded him an excellent perspective of her doings. He crouched comfortably, the sound of his movements lost in her rustling and preparations.

Blanket spread and stones in a circle, she proceeded to build a small fire. Very interesting that the flames almost seemed to respond to her hands, as if entranced to do her bidding. Then she rose to hang the remaining blankets over the wider breaks in the trees. She apparently sought either solitude or privacy. How intriguing.

She knelt before the fire once more and raised her hands to the sky, mumbling with her husky voice. After she’d lit candles and hailed the four directions, he concluded she was casting a spell…but for what? He couldn’t really determine what herbs she ground in her mortar and pestle, but since she wasn’t using her leather gloves, he didn’t think the ingredients included the wolfsbane. She tossed the contents of the mortar into the fire while reciting phrases he couldn’t quite make out except for the words “soul mate”. He smiled. A love spell? Perhaps she was out here for him.

He hitched his breath.

Monika disrobed.

Chapter Seven

After folding her clothes, delightfully bending over before Thomas, Monika unbound her hair from the kerchief. Tossing the cloth to the folded pile of clothes, she shook her dark-brown waves, which cascaded down her bare back to brush just above the perfect, round globes of her buttocks.

Blood surged to Thomas’s groin so fast, his cock ached and strained against his breeches. From his crouching position, he fell forward onto his knees and crunched loudly in the dried leaves. Monika whirled around, her arm clutched across her breasts and the other hand at her crotch. A rabbit scampered and dashed from barely two feet in front of his hiding spot, drawing her attention away from Thomas.

He remained frozen.

After her wide eyes followed the rodent—which scuttled away from the scene—Monika sighed and dropped her face into her hands and chuckled. Shaking her head, she inhaled deeply and sighed. Now facing toward him, she sat down on the blanket, laid back and spread her lovely legs with her knees raised. The small clearing must have had a slight incline, for it gave him the perfect view up her belly to her luscious breasts. From the dark curls framing the treasure between her thighs to her full, pouty mouth, Thomas gawked at Monika’s flawless glory. And almost as if the heavens were blessing this very moment, streams of sunlight speared through branches and leaves of the forest on its descent into sundown. The sun exposed every detail of her body.

He sat enraptured as her hands smoothed over her skin, exploring her breasts, pinching her nipples and thrusting her mounds together as her slender fingers squeezed her plump flesh. Her lips parted and she moaned. Her hips rose from the blanket, her succulent bottom clenching tight. Thomas thrust his hand into his trousers and grabbed his rock-hard cock, already slick with dew at the head. His mouth went dry as her fingers slid down her stomach, between her thighs and parted her nether lips. Widening her legs, her other hand joined the sensuous caresses. The index and middle finger of one hand held her lips wide while she flicked and stroked her clitoris and silken folds with her other hand.

Thomas trembled, exerting great effort to maintain control over his breathing, straining not to groan aloud at the sexual goddess before him. He contemplated a moment, debating with himself on whether or not he should run into that circle and plunge his cock inside her. He gripped his shaft tight over the images such a thought invoked, and closed his eyes, losing himself in the fantasy of grabbing her hips and pounding her wet slit. Thomas shuddered. She would hardly be receptive to him and he wanted that cure.

He opened his eyes, resigned to enjoy her display instead.

As she stroked her glistening kunte, her fingers vibrating and teasing, sparkling with her dew in the waning sunlight, Thomas stroked his staff. Breeches now open, he gripped his rod in one hand and massaged his ballocks with the other, his eyes transfixed on Monika.

Panting, she thrust her hips up and down, riding her fingers and moaning softly. Thomas pumped his length, again envisioning himself buried inside that wet, hot center between her legs. He grabbed her hips and bucked against her, and Monika’s moans urged him to fuck her harder, deeper. Long, penetrating thrusts, his penis slick with her juices, his veins bulging over the surface of his erection, her core sucking around him, milking him for more. He dropped his head back and squeezed his cock harder, ready to burst. The musky scent of her sex wafted around him and his nostrils flared. He resisted the urge to growl.

Sweet, melodious tones of ecstasy fluttered from Monika as she climaxed, her head tossing to one side. Thomas spilled his seed and shuddered, gritting his teeth as he emptied himself, splattering onto the leaves in the bush before him. Mouth gaping, he made every effort to keep his labored breathing silent by forcing it in and out, slow and deep.

Monika laid motionless, save for the rise and fall of her breasts. Thomas dared not move for fear of being caught with his prick in his hands. She rolled to her side and raised up on her hip, a sensuous smile spreading over her full lips in the orange glow of the fire. Curling her legs beneath her, she raised her arms, palms to the sky, and mumbled something incoherent. As Monika dressed, Thomas tucked himself back into his trousers and tied his leather laces, securing his breeches. He hunkered down carefully and smiled at his semen clinging to the branches. His cock twitched in remembrance.

Once she’d performed a couple of hand gestures, turning in a circle, she murmured a few more husky words and sighed, a grin of contentment upon her mouth. Thomas gawked as she plunged her hands into the fire. Her arms glowed molten red as she seemingly sucked the heat of the fire into her limbs. The smoke dissipated on the wind and she dusted the ash from her hands. Monika engrossed herself in sweeping the dried leaves from the side of the clearing, spreading them back across the ground.

Thomas sat dumbfounded for several moments, then snapped out of his trance. When her back was facing him, Thomas used the noisy activity to slip away from the scene through the growing darkness.

He stopped by the main road, glancing left and right, and emerged from the brush once he was sure he was alone. He rubbed his hand over his face. Witches had a lot more secrets than what some curly script concealed. Thomas sighed, relieved he had not walked into that circle and had his way with her after all. Who knew what she was capable of? He paced the road, digesting this new information. And confronting her about it was out of the question, or he would reveal he’d seen her little sexual display.

It was obvious she was attracted to him and this werewolf curse was the only thing getting in the way. He nodded. He would easily win her over. And what an ally she would be! He chuckled. She would most certainly be a delight to bed! That girl had a bold passion, as most decent women he’d known would not dare do such a thing in private, let alone in the woods and risk being seen. His cock stiffened at the thought and he clutched his groin. Yes, a woman like that would excite him on command and his bed would never be cold…especially with her! He laughed at his own joke.

A familiar tingling started at Thomas’s appendages and he snapped his gaze to the sky. A midnight blue shroud had covered the forest, the last tendrils of daylight fading on the horizon past the trees in purple and pink streaks. The tingling crept up from his fingers and toes, then shot through his arms and legs, clashing into his torso, and he doubled over, grunting. No! Not here! He scrambled across the road and into the opposite clutch of trees, crashing through brush and branches. The yellow haze of his wolf vision bled into view, brightening the terrain around him and he increased his pace. Breath and legs pumping, he drove himself deeper into the woods. Branches whipped his face, lashing his skin. Tears of blood ran down his cheeks. The inevitable heaviness filled his gut and spread throughout his body, slowing his pace as if he waded through mud. Reaching behind his neck, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the ground. Just as he finished pulling off his boots and stripping his legs of his trousers, he fell to his knees, naked and clutching dry leaves in his fists. His body trembled and a thin line of spittle dripped from his mouth.

“God, let this end,” he gasped.

Thomas arched his back and a gargled cry ripped from him as the dreaded process began. He grunted as his spine snapped and contorted. A licking fire coursed from his chest and coiled up his throat, forcing another groan from his lips. Muscles across his body bubbled and roiled, tugging and twisting his bones as they crunched, transmogrifying his human shape into the snarling beast he despised. He jerked and quivered, flexed his arms and legs straight and then curled into a ball and wept. Hair growth sizzled over his skin, hissing as his body hair lengthened to a wiry, black pelt. Thomas panted and groaned as he rose on all fours and gritted his teeth as the final stage of change sliced through his head. His jaw and nose elongated, a tortured cry aching to burst forth, but he could only grunt and whimper. His teeth lengthened and he wailed at the sky, the man’s cry morphing into the howl of the wolf.

* * * * *

Broderick finished the task of tying his hair back with a thin strip of leather, then secured his sword at his hip. He gritted his teeth and paced his cabin, a hard-on still straining against his breeches in spite of the relief he just gave himself. More sexual dreams with Davina…with Monika. Prior to the sexual portion of the dream, she was arguing with the raven-haired man who caused her such irritation the night before. Rick would need to learn more about this rogue with ice-blue eyes.

But the sensuous and erotic visions were primary and they flashed before his eyes now, so intense and vivid. So much like Davina’s Amorous Invitations. After he’d told his wife about the erotic dreams he had of her—due to her thoughts about him during the day—Davina devised a sensuously devious plan. She purposefully sequestered herself away in their chamber, dressed in gossamer, silk robes he’d had shipped from China just for her. And lying on their bed, she focused on making love to Broderick…in extreme and intricate detail. The images of his dreams teased him into a frenzy. When he awakened, he hadn’t taken the time to dress, but clamored up the stone staircase from his underground lair, taking four and five steps at a time, and burst through the hidden panel into their chamber—naked and with a raging hard-on. Spread upon their bed, with her hands roaming her curves and a seductive grin on her lush mouth, Davina taunted Broderick. He ravished his wife, much to her delight…and his ultimate ecstasy. He could never get enough of her, especially on those nights.

What did all this mean? If Monika was indeed Davina, which seemed more and more plausible by the moment, then she had to have been intensely focused on making love to Broderick during the day. The woman had no idea what she was doing to him.

Where to feed tonight should be my current thought. He left his cabin and he stood a moment in the small hallway. His cock throbbed. Clenching his jaw, he grabbed himself. “Down, brute!” He positioned his sporran low on his hips to cover his groin and ascended the stairs to the main deck.

“Evenin’ Cap—” Andrew’s eyes grew wide. “You all right, Cap’n?”

“Aye. Why?” Broderick scowled.

Andrew swallowed. “Oh, nothin’ in particular. I’m just a-prayin’ I’m not the one you be angry with.”

Broderick sighed. “My apologies.” He patted Andrew on the shoulder. “You’re not the object of my wrath.”

His first mate relaxed. “Then you have yourself a fine evenin’, Cap’n.”

Broderick chuckled and hopped over the port side. Striding down the wharf, he stalked out of Vollstadt and on the road toward Kostbar. He remembered seeing a few farmhouses along the path and thought it best to hunt on quieter grounds to avoid the tumultuous emotions usually roiling around crowds.

A wolf howl echoed across the forest.

What in blazes. He cursed under his breath. A blood-curdling scream wrenched through the darkness and Broderick dashed through the trees toward the source. Trunks and bushes flew by him in a blur and he skirted the village of Kostbar, rounding to the south side of the tiny establishment.

“Lord have mercy on my soul.” A simple shepherd’s lamp trembled in the hand of a middle-aged woman, her face as ashen as the gray hair upon her head. A thin line of blood dripped from the gash on her forehead.

Standing on its hind legs, its long front arms out to the sides and claws bared, a hulking werewolf snarled and towered over the defenseless woman.

Broderick drew his sword. “Your battle is with me, beast!”

The woman collapsed to the ground, fainting and dropping her lantern. The wolfman spun to face Broderick and lunged with a roar. With little time to defend, Rick leapt to the side and slashed with his sword as he tumbled to the ground. He sprang to his feet just as the animal hurdled a felled tree, leaping into the air. Ducking, he shouldered the werewolf’s underside and flipped it over his back, twirling to face it with sword at the ready. But the creature had crashed through the brush and disappeared into the darkness, its retreating footsteps fading in the distance. He stood still, ears inclined toward the retreating animal, waiting to see if it would circle around for another attack. Blood dripped from his sword. At least he had wounded it.

A puff and crackle drew his attention to the woman lying on the ground. Her lantern had caught fire to some leaves. Broderick righted the lamp, still lit, and stomped out the flames on the ground. Sheathing his sword, he knelt beside her and blotted the blood at her temple with his kerchief. Since he hadn’t yet fed, he exerted extra effort to keep The Hunger at bay.

She stirred, then sat upright, scrambling back and clutching her hand to her throat.

“All is well, lass.” The corner of Broderick’s mouth turned up in a grin he hoped would calm and reassure her.

Her eyes darted about the forest, flitting back and forth between him and the towering trees. “Did you see it? Where did it go?”

“You’re safe now.”

“You!” She groaned and clutched her head.

Broderick handed her his kerchief.

“How did you…? It was huge! How could you have…?” She pressed the cloth to her head and winced.

Broderick rose, offering her his hand. “The beastie was easily startled. I’m glad I came upon you when I did.”

“God be praised you were here!” She clutched his hand and staggered to her feet with his assistance. A foreboding settled over her face and she placed trembling fingers to her cheeks. “It’s returned.” She gasped. “Analise!” She snatched her shawl and lantern from the ground and ran through the trees toward the road, Broderick close on her heels.

“Now doncha be running off!” He grabbed her elbow and pulled her up short.

“My daughter Analise and her husband. I have to warn them.” She pointed down the road. The moon illuminated a small cottage nestled in the trees by a modest farm. “They’re just over there!”

“All right, now. Calm down. I’ll go with you.”

She hastened down the road, grasping her skirts in one hand, her outstretched lantern leading the way.

Broderick surveyed the open land once they’d cleared the trees. The empty field, surrounded by a piled-stone wall, smelled of fresh tilled earth. A faint sweet tang of blood drifted through the air, but it was too subtle to determine its source and it wasn’t from the woman who walked ahead of him. No sign of the werewolf, nor could he smell its foul presence.

“Hurry!” She rushed through the front fence and up to the door, pounding against the worn planks. “Analise! Brynner!”

The door flung open and the scent of blood assaulted Broderick’s nose. A young blonde woman gasped and threw her arms around Broderick’s companion. “Thank God, you’re safe!” The blonde sobbed. “It’s Brynner.”

Sitting at the table, in the middle of the common room of the farmhouse, was a stout young man clutching his forearm wrapped in a bloodied cloth. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, illuminating the grimace on his face. Brynner bared his teeth and shivered. “The damned thing bit me, Johanna.”

“Oh, no!” The older woman rushed forward to assess the wound and Analise wept into her hands.

Broderick turned away so they wouldn’t see the silver core of his eyes, glowing from The Hunger. “You stay here and bar the door. I’ll look around to see if the creature is still about.”

Not waiting for their approval, he ran around the back of the house and tarried only until he was inside the forest before he used his immortal speed to dash through the trees and scout the surrounding acreage. What had he stumbled upon in this part of the world? Witch trials. Werewolves. His wife reborn into another body. All these decades, Broderick had kept to his family, his only concern protecting and loving them until time stole them away. Malloren Rune had been the only other bizarre connection to the supernatural outside of Vamsyrians. Well, other than one chance meeting with a werewolf over thirty years ago. His shoulder always ached with sympathy when he thought of the attack and he rubbed it now while he continued to survey the grounds.

He now had control over The Hunger and sniffed the air once more. No trace of the werewolf. No tracks on the earth. No blood on the wind. The creature had vanished. However, Broderick knew it was not the same werewolf he’d encountered the night he arrived in Kostbar. This one had a black pelt. Damn! Not one, but two to worry about. However, the first one might have actually been Monika’s father. Still, if there were two, there might even be more. Malloren had said he was in werewolf territory. He cursed under his breath. At least he’d been able to get the wolfsbane painted around his ship.

He dashed back to the farmhouse. Analise clutched her husband’s head to her bosom, tears staining her cheeks. Johanna stood and faced Broderick. “Did you find it?”

He shook his head. “How does he fare?”

“I’ve been bitten,” Brynner grumbled. “How do you think I fare?”

Analise cried harder. I’ve lost him! God, why would you take my heart from me?

Broderick didn’t know what to say and he fought the tears threatening to come forth, so immersed in the sorrow saturating this home. Until he was sure Monika had the cure, he didn’t want to raise any hopes. Malloren said she was searching for the cure…not that she’d found it. Perhaps the answers were in the book they both saw in the dreams and visions. “I’m sorry.” An awkward silence hung thick like moisture in the air. He was useless to these people now. “I am heading back to the village,” he whispered and turned to leave.

“May I accompany you?” Johanna grabbed her shawl and threw it over her shoulders.

“Of course.”

“Mama, no.”

She hugged Analise, then framed her daughter’s face with her palms. “I have to warn the others. Be strong. Be strong.”

The young woman nodded and her bottom lip trembled. “Yes, Mama.”

Johanna gripped Brynner’s shoulder. “You have a fortnight, son.”

Brynner clenched his jaw, tears spilling down his cheeks, but he nodded and turned his red-rimmed gaze to his wife. The couple fell into each other’s arms and wept.

Broderick stepped out of the house, curling his fingers into fists, and paced while the older woman grabbed her lantern and closed the door behind her.

Once they traversed the short distance to the road, they fell into step beside one another.

“I am Frau Hafner.”

“Broderick MacDougal.” He frowned. “Your daughter or son?”

“My daughter and son-in-law.” Why, God? Why?

How many times had Broderick asked that same question? “You said, ‘It’s returned.’ This has happened before, I assume.”

She nodded. “Ten years ago. That incident has haunted this village for years and Analise and Brynner know the tales well.”

“Is the healer able to help at all?”

“I certainly hope so.” A sad smile graced her lips. “Monika Konrads may be Brynner’s only hope. There was a rash of werewolf attacks. Monika’s mother Katrina had a very secretive client seeking her skills. Some say he was looking for the cure, and he was the werewolf terrorizing the village. Then he just disappeared. A month later, Monika’s cottage burned down. Monika’s father Symon was burned pretty badly. He’d told us precious little Monika had tried to drag her mother from the flames, but she was too late. By some miracle, Monika hadn’t even been burned.” Johanna shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. Dear Lord, please let her have the answers.

They walked in silence for the last stretch of road to the village and Johanna went straight to Monika’s cottage. She rapped on the wood.

The door swung wide and Monika’s face lit with the radiance of the sun when her eyes fell upon Broderick. Her gleaming smile soon melted into a frown when she regarded both of their faces. “Johanna…what’s wrong?”

“There’s been an attack,” she responded, her voice thick with sorrow.

“Oh, no. Who? What happened?” Monika ushered Johanna inside and pulled a chair from the table for Johanna. With the boundary still up around her house, Broderick stood just outside the door.

“Child…I…” She clasped Monika’s hands.

Monika nodded. “I heard the howl. I know.” He will burn for this.

Broderick noted the determined set of Monika’s jaw, the cold blue steel of her eyes, which she’d turned to him momentarily before diverting her attention back to Johanna.

“Brynner,” the older woman managed to choke out before she broke into sobs.

Not Brynner! She wrapped her friend in her embrace and they rocked together in their grief.

“Please tell me you continued your mother’s work.” Johanna clutched Monika’s shoulders. “Did you ever find the book?”

“Actually, yes. Only just yesterday.”

“What?” The older woman searched Monika with hope in her wide eyes.

Broderick crossed his arms, a silent observer.

“Honestly, I cannot promise you a cure at this time, though I am working very hard to find the answers. I just don’t know if and when that will happen. We need to keep Brynner safe from others and from himself until then.”

Broderick stepped forward. “Can we build a safe room?”

The women turned their eyes to him.

“I don’t mean to imply we put him in a cage, but if we can create a strong room where he can’t escape when he transforms, mayhap even paint it with a wolfsbane infusion, perhaps that will keep him and other’s safe.”

“What a wonderful idea.” Monika squeezed Johanna’s hand, her full lips curling into a hopeful smile. “Helmut would be the one to organize such a task.”

“Yes! I’ll speak to him right away.” She leaned forward and kissed Monika’s cheek before scampering to the door. She stopped and faced Broderick. “Thank you, Herr MacDougal. For everything.”

He nodded and tried to offer a reassuring grin.

When Johanna left, Monika regarded him with her sapphire eyes, glassed with tears. It was enough to cinch his heart. “I don’t suppose you’ll come inside if I ask?”

Broderick opened his mouth, unsure of what to say. He studied her doorway, then smirked.

She sighed and chuckled. “Very well.” Monika joined him outside and they strolled to the bench by the well. “What happened?”

“I was returning to the village when I heard the howl and then a scream.” Broderick propped his right boot onto the bench. “I rushed to find the beast ready to pounce on Frau Hafner. Luckily it was easy to scare away.”

She cocked an eyebrow. Easy to scare away, huh? I wonder.

Broderick resisted the urge to grin with pride. Nothing goes unnoticed by this woman. “When we went to check on her daughter, we’d learned Brynner had been attacked.” He shook his head. “I can only guess he must have gone looking for his mother-in-law when they heard the howl, too.”

Monika bit her trembling lip and hugged her midsection as she sat on the bench. “He’s like a brother to me. Analise, a sister. We all grew up together.”

“What can I do to help?”

A dejected laugh fluttered from her and she raked her fingers through her hair, swiping the kerchief from her head and bundling it in her lap. “I don’t know that you can. I don’t really know if there’s anything I can do.”

“You both spoke of a cure.” He relayed the information Frau Hafner shared with him on their walk into the village. “What else do you need for this recipe you mentioned? Is money an issue? Are the ingredients difficult to find?”

She sighed and shook her head. “That’s my quandary. Right now, the recipe is incomplete. A man named Thomas Carr came into Vollstadt the other day with my mother’s book, something my grandmother and I thought had been lost in the fire Frau Hafner told you about.” Monika told Broderick about Thomas’s story and her recent efforts. All the while, anger emanated from her body like the heat from a hearth and radiated across the space between them. “But I have to finish transcribing the pages before he’ll give me the book. As I’m doing so, I’m learning the steps my mother took in her efforts to find the cure.”

“Tell me where to find the blackguard and I will get the book for you.”

Husky laughter shook her shoulders and she gifted him with an endearing smile. “I am flattered you would champion my cause so soon after our brief meeting. I only have one or two more days of transcriptions, I’m sure. I should be able to get the book soon.”

Broderick clenched his jaw. “Mayhap he is the one who attacked Brynner.”

She leveled her gaze at him. “I am certain of it.”

Chapter Eight

A rising murmur of voices filled the courtyard as a small crowd rounded the corner, coming from the path Monika and Broderick had taken to the kitchen house the night before. A large, muscular man with a leather apron was at the front and, when he reached the blacksmith shop, he faced the gathering crowd and waved his arms. “Now, now! I can do my best to get this strong room built as fast as I can, but such a thing is going to take a lot of materials and a lot of work. You have to give me some time! And I’ll need help.”

Broderick nodded to Monika and they both walked over to the crowd. “What can I do to help, Herr Schmied?” he voiced over the rising protests.

The crowd fell silent and Helmut narrowed his eyes. “And who might you be, stranger?”

“This is Herr MacDougal,” Monika explained. “He’s a man of means and purpose. He can aid our cause.”

“Do you have men?” Helmut asked.

“There seems to be plenty of able bodies right here,” Broderick responded. “Mayhap—”

“We have our own families to tend to!” a man’s voice protested from the group.

“As I was about to suggest,” Broderick interjected. “I will pay silver to whoever volunteers their labor for the task.”

The villagers murmured, nodding but also shaking their heads, some seemingly divided, others willing. Others were suspicious. The mixture of emotions whirling about the crowd pressed in upon Broderick.

“Why would you, a stranger, pay silver to trap a werewolf?” An elderly man pushed through the people and stood before Broderick with a walking stick.

“Nikolaus,” Monika scolded. “We’re not trying to trap Brynner. We’re trying to keep him and all of us safe.”

“He’s a beast that needs to be caged!” Nikolaus protested and waved his stick.

Broderick redirected the conversation back to the topic at hand. “I understand why you would question my involvement. I am a stranger, but I am hoping to settle in this area and call Kostbar my home. As such, I will defend this village as if it were my own. I know I need to gain your trust, but perhaps my contribution will speak for my intentions.”

“But once Brynner is safe,” Helmut said. “What about the rest of us? The werewolf that bit Brynner is still roaming free!”

The villagers raised their voices in agreement.

“Please listen to me.” Monika stood on tiptoe and waved to get their attention. They lowered their voices. “Many of you know my mother was working on a cure for the werewolf curse before she died. I have just recently found my mother’s book.” She raised her voice to speak over the increasing rumble of comments. “I might be able to find a cure before the next cycle of the moon.”

“Might?” Nikolaus barked. “We are putting our trust in might. We must organize a hunting party and find that werewolf!”

“Do you hear what you’re saying?” Edda shoved through the bodies. “Katrina was my best friend and I was there to help her through that horrible time. These were our friends, our family. Many of them died in her arms.” She cast an apologetic gaze to Monika. “We can’t let fear drive us to this. We survived the mercenaries because we joined together and helped each other. This is no different.”

“But we have no defense against a creature from hell,” Nikolaus argued.

“I suppose you had armor and swords and shields to defend your village against the mercenaries. Is that correct?” Broderick asked.

Nikolaus frowned.

“And your homes, they kept you all safe against the strength and torches of those soldiers. Am I right?” These were farmers, potters and bakers…not warriors.

“You weren’t here, young man!” the old man growled. “What do you know of war?”

“I’m older than I look.” He began unbuttoning his doublet. “I mean no disrespect, but I’ve been in several clan wars back in my homeland.” Broderick handed Monika his baldric, sword and doublet, then pulled his shirt over his head and turned full circle, catching Monika’s stunned expression as he did so. “And I have the scars to prove it.” Immortality did not erase the marks he bore before he transformed into a Vamsyrian. Those were forever branded across his skin.

The color leeched from Nikolaus’s face and he nodded. “Sweet Lord in heaven, boy.” He gazed at Broderick with regret.

“I don’t carry a sword for appearance’s sake.” Broderick patted the old man on the shoulder and slipped his shirt back over his head. Many peered around each other to see Broderick’s sword, which he retrieved from Monika. Edda’s eldest boy gawked and smiled.

“There is one thing you didn’t have ten years ago. Someone experienced with supernatural creatures. And two things you didn’t have when the mercenaries ravaged your town. One experienced in combat and the resources to protect you. I offer you all these.” He stepped next to Monika, still holding his doublet, and put his arm around her. “Fräulein Konrads has the means to make your homes safe against werewolves. She created a wolfsbane infusion for me last evening and, with a little help, I’m sure she can create enough for all of you.” He gazed down at her sapphire eyes, which gleamed with appreciation.

She nodded. “Werewolves only come out at night and there are nine days in the moon cycle. We only have six days left. We can stay indoors at nightfall. I have great hopes I’ll develop a cure before the next cycle. In the meantime, I can create enough infusion for everyone. I’ll begin collecting the flower immediately.”

“I’ll help!” Edda chimed at once.

“Nay, I will do that,” Broderick said, as he shrugged into his doublet. “I cannot protect everyone that goes out to gather the herb. It will be easier to protect one person than an entire village in the open forest.” Broderick turned to Helmut. “The construction of the strong house should be during the day, so save your efforts until then. Before I leave this evening, I’ll be sure you have enough silver to get started.”

Helmut dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“I believe I have some of the infusion left over from last night.” Broderick did a casual count of the villagers, who seemed to number no more than thirty. “Is this everyone in the village?”

Several heads swung to and fro, each villager taking an inventory of their neighbors.

“It might be tight, but I think the kitchen house is large enough to hold everyone, yes?” The thoughts of several villagers milled around wondering what Broderick was up to. “Here’s what I propose. I’ll retrieve the rest of the wolfsbane and meet you back at the kitchen house. Paint the infusion on the doors and windows. Be sparing, though, there isn’t much. Stay close to the building and if you need to protect yourselves, go into the kitchen. No fires,” he warned. “The space is too close for that without risking someone getting hurt. Monika and I will gather the wolfsbane and be back as quickly as possible to make more infusions so you can all dress your homes.”

Many heads bobbed in agreement then started filing across the courtyard to the path toward the kitchen.

As Broderick stepped toward the northeast pathway out of the village, Monika grabbed his hand. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He dragged a curled finger along her jawline and images of him standing shirtless before the crowd flashed in his mind. Monika’s desire heated the air between them. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Did I shock your delicate sensibilities when I disrobed?”

Her cheeks bloomed rosy. “You delight in making me blush!” She covered her laughter with her fingertips and pushed his shoulder. “Hurry back, you rogue.”

Chuckling, Broderick bowed before departing. He hurried down the road until he was sure no one could see him, then sped back to the docks and leapt onto his ship. The main deck was empty. While he fetched the jug of the remaining wolfsbane from his cabin, he also fastened a small sack of silver to his belt and took an old pair of leather gloves from his chest of drawers to protect him against the herb.

When Broderick came topside, he almost ran into Gilbert.

Fear widened his crewmember’s eyes. “We heard the howl, Cap’n.” He glanced at the jug in Broderick’s hand. “Time to hunt a werewolf?”

“Right now, I’m trying to protect the villagers of Kostbar, the small establishment down the road. You should be in your cabin.”

“Aye, Cap’n. I heard some noise, so I’d come to check it out. The others are below as instructed.”

“Don’t come out tonight. Stay inside like the rest of them.”

Gilbert nodded and disappeared below deck. Broderick sped along the same path back to the road to Kostbar. Vollstadt was at least a couple of miles from Kostbar. And though it was humanly possible for him to have gone there and back in the short amount of time he had been gone, he certainly didn’t look like he had exerted such efforts. Broderick paced at the side of the road. But the longer he waited, the longer the people in Kostbar were exposed to a possible attack. Broderick paced a few minutes more before growling and giving up.

He cantered into the village courtyard and passed the well, then backtracked and tossed in the bucket, fetching some water. Splashing it on his face and drizzling it down the front of his shirt and doublet and under his arms, he was pleased it gave him the appearance of sweating after hard labor. Trotting down the path to the kitchen house, he pretended as if he was out of breath.

Monika gasped and ran to him with a cloth in her hand. “My goodness! What happened?”

“Nothing, I just ran to get the jug.” He handed it to her and bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees, continuing the charade of exerting himself.

Monika passed it to Edda, then carried on with wiping his brow. “You should sit down. That’s amazing! You ran the entire way, there and back?”

Nikolaus cackled. “You’re a mighty fit young man!”

Several of the villagers chuckled.

“Come.” Broderick jerked his head, beckoning her to follow. “Let us gather the wolfsbane.”

“I think you should rest.” She placed her hands upon her hips.

“Bah!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. “We don’t have time to rest. Goodbye, folks!” Broderick waved. “We shall return soon.”

Edda and Irma laughed and waved, along with many others in the crowd.

Monika shook her head and followed after Broderick. “You’re mad, you know that?”

He waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Hopelessly.”

She rolled her eyes, chuckling, and stalked ahead. “I just need to get us some baskets and my gloves.”

Broderick pulled his gloves from his belt and held them up. “I brought my own.”

“Wonderful!” Disappearing only briefly into the cottage, she emerged with two large baskets, each lined with a large square of threadbare cloth.

They trekked into the woods together, Monika in the lead and Broderick keeping his ears and eyes open for anything. With her expert eye, she was able to spot the plant right away and showed Broderick what to look for.

Apprehension and a thick nervous tension radiated from Monika. Broderick glanced at her, but nothing in her appearance betrayed what he sensed. It’s a fair question to ask, he detected from her thoughts. She cleared her throat. “Herr MacDougal, might I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course you may.” He uprooted the next stalk of wolfsbane he came upon and caught up to her in two long strides.

“I’m assuming you’re not courting anyone at the moment since you…well, since we...”

“Since I kissed you last night?” The corner of his mouth turned up in amusement. She was adorable when she blushed…and smelled oh-so delectable.

Monika faced him and swallowed. “Yes.”

“I’m a widower,” he whispered, never very comfortable with that status.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She reached for his arm, but stopped, noticing the gloves. Both hands clasped the basket handle as if to keep them in check. “My condolences for your loss. How long ago?”

He smiled. “Several years ago.”

“I see.” Monika drew her bottom lip between her teeth in that achingly familiar gesture used by Davina.

“Since we’re being so candid with each other.” Broderick set the basket on the ground, where he tossed his gloves. “I have not been involved with another woman since her passing. I’ve never had any desire for another woman since she came into my life.” He inhaled deeply, bringing the essence of Monika in with that breath, and his knees trembled. “Until you, that is.”

“Oh.” Such a whisper of a word passing through her plump, red lips.

“In all honesty, Fräulein Kon—”

“Monika.” A timid smile touched her mouth.

Broderick returned the smile and stared at her lips a moment, remembering how they tasted. “In all honesty, Monika, I’ve felt that being with someone else would betray our love, and I’ve never wanted to do such a thing.”

She sighed. “Herr MacDou—”

“Broderick.” He chuckled.

Her smile deepened and she nodded. “Broderick.” Monika merely breathed his name and raw need swirled in his gut. “You are unlike any man I have ever met.” Husky desire thickened her words. “You are the utmost gentleman, yet you reveal the rogue beneath the mask…and always at the right times. You speak of devotion for your wife, even though she passed many years ago. What woman wouldn’t swoon over such attention or dedication to love?” Monika pulled off her gloves and dropped them and the basket at her feet. “You are a man of your heart, Broderick.” She placed her hot hand upon his chest, her warmth covering his soul.

He placed his hand over hers and gazed into her sapphire eyes. “I don’t want my past to burden this. It’s not fair to you.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Broderick cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “There are so many things about you that remind me of her. You have the same eyes, the same mannerisms. Even the same gestures.” Monika drew her bottom lip between her teeth and Broderick chuckled. “Aye, just like that one. And the way you jut your chin forward when you stand your ground.”

“Do I do that?” Her brows drew together.

Deep laughter rumbled from his chest. “Aye, you do.” He brushed a strand of her chocolate hair from her forehead. “Davina is…” Broderick couldn’t finish the sentence. Davina is dead.

“What a beautiful name.”

Tears shot down his cheeks, unexpectedly. He nodded. “Aye,” he replied, his voice heavy with grief.

“Oh, Broderick.” Monika wiped his cheeks with tender fingers, moisture welling in her own eyes. “You are such a beautiful man,” she whispered, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss one of his tears from the corner of his lips.

Like a man starved, Broderick opened his mouth and claimed hers in a possessive kiss, drinking her in, dragging her into his arms and crushing her body against him. It was her. Honey on her tongue. Lavender and the sweet essence of her blood filling his nostrils. Her breathy moans, whispering his name. The same nibbles, the sweep of her tongue, her fingertips seeking to caress his mouth as he devoured her, the pressure of her full breasts against his chest. “Davina.”

She stilled in his arms and pressed gently against his chest. He reluctantly broke from their kiss and was almost surprised to see Monika in his arms. She brushed her thumb over his mouth and a soft smile, with a small measure of sadness, curled her lips ever-so slightly. “I understand now what you mean.”

“What?” Broderick groaned. “What did I do?”

“You called me Davina.”

“Oh, Monika.” He shook his head and touched his brow to hers. “I’m so sorry. I—”

She placed a fingertip on his lips. “All is well. I’m surprised. I-I’m actually…I don’t mind. And I understand.”

“This isn’t fair to you.” He dipped his head for one more taste of her lips. “Perhaps I just need a little time.”

“Time is something we have.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

A lump formed in Broderick’s throat as he held fast to her. Time is something I have, Blossom, but never enough with you.

His kisses still tingling on her lips, Monika gathered as much wolfsbane as she could handle. Broderick insisted he carry both baskets while she collected more of the herb. He managed the load surprisingly well and, baskets stuffed full, they both trekked back to the village, relieved there were no incidents of an attack. Monika informed her neighbors to use leather gloves if they were going to help. If they weren’t helping, they were ordered out of the kitchen. Her Scotsman stood sentinel outside at the edge of the small group, alert for anything unusual.

As Monika supervised the activities, she’d steal glances at Broderick, who winked at her if he caught her staring. She’d blush and he’d chuckle, then pretend to return to guard duty with a stoic expression, but a repressed smile that brought out his dimple.

With the infusion complete, Broderick pulled Monika aside. “I don’t want to leave, but I must. I have some personal needs I must attend to.”

“Of course.” She fought the heavy drag on her heart. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us tonight.”

Lacing his fingers with hers, his eyes roamed around the clustered group of villagers while he slowly backed into the shadows. Placing a finger over his lips, he pulled her with him and mischief danced in his eyes.

She glanced over her shoulder. No one seemed to notice them slip between the kitchen house and the adjacent cottage. Broderick encased her within his arms against the wall and claimed her mouth with a hungry kiss. Monika melted against his solid frame, her head dizzy from his magic. Heart racing, gasping for breath, she could not get enough of this man. His possessive hands, so achingly familiar. His kisses like sweet memories. Her body knew him. Nothing had ever been so perfect, so right.

The passion from their kiss ebbed, slowing to delicate nibbles and caresses. Monika’s knees buckled and she would have collapsed had it not been for his tight embrace.

He touched the tip of his nose to hers. “That wasn’t enough, but it will have to carry me ’til the morrow.”

She cocked an eyebrow and pulled him in for another kiss.

Broderick groaned into her mouth and lifted her from ground. “Och, woman! You’ll be the death of me.”

Monika gasped, and then grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. “I swear to you, Broderick MacDougal. You’ve leapt from my dreams straight into my arms.”

His deliciously deep laughter rumbled against her breasts. “Aye, lass. Truer words have never been said.” With one more hungry kiss, he let her slide down his body and moaned. Grasping her by the hand, he peeked around the corner then casually strolled back into the wide path, where her neighbors were still gathered, chattering.

“Good night, Fräulein Konrads.” Broderick brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, those hooded emerald eyes seeing into her soul.

“Oy, now, MacDougal!” Helmut protested. “You do that in front of our wives, and they’ll be expecting us to follow suit!”

Riotous laughter filled the streets and Edda punched her husband’s arm. Broderick chuckled, then handed Helmut a small sack. “This should get you started on labor and materials.” He patted the blacksmith on the shoulder. “So all of you know, I do have some duties to tend to during the day, but I will be changing my sleeping habits so I’m up most of the night. That will give me a better opportunity to be alert and awake while the werewolves are active.”

Helmut’s jaw dropped and he and Broderick seized each other by the forearms with a firm shake. The rest of the villagers voiced their appreciation and well wishes.

Taking Monika in hand, Broderick waved goodnight, then led her down the wide path, away from the group of villagers. “Until the morrow? At sunset?”

She grinned. “I shall count the hours,” she whispered, using his own words from the night before.

Broderick laid a sensual kiss to her palm and Monika swooned. As he stepped backward, his hand clung to hers as long as possible before they parted. She stared after his retreating figure, admiring his broad back and shoulders, his well-shaped posterior and powerful thighs. The man oozed sexuality with every step as he sauntered away, occasionally glancing over his shoulder at her and gifting her with a sensuous smile.

“He seems like a good man,” Edda said at her side. “Scottish and a deep voice. Is he the one?”

When Broderick finally walked out of her view, she turned to her friend. “Yes, I believe he’s the man in my dreams.”

“You have the knowing, just like your grandmothers on both sides of your family.” Edda put her arm around Monika and they turned toward the crowd. “I’m happy for you, love.”

“Thank you.” Monika smiled, then waved to address her neighbors. “It’s getting late. Let’s get our houses dressed with the infusions and get ourselves off to bed. I think we’ll all sleep a little sounder tonight.”

Many nodded in agreement and Monika organized the activity. As the villagers set off to do as she instructed, she recalled what Broderick said about Vamsyrians being known as the Blood of the Cursed. Werewolves were cursed. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and tapped her chin. Perhaps there’s something else I can do to protect the village.

* * * * *

Monika made short order of her chores the next morning, grabbed her small basket of remedies, which she was rarely without, and marched the long trek to Vollstadt. Thomas was due for a royal scolding for what he did last night.

As she stomped into the tavern of The Red Stag, Monika jumped at the innkeeper’s voice and stopped at the doorway.

“I don’t know, Aggie!” Otto yelled at the blonde woman at the bar. He vigorously scrubbed the bar top with a brush and soapy water. “You come in here with so many men, how am I supposed to keep track of them?”

Aggie punched her fists onto her hips. “It was that Scotsman, the tall one with the red hair. Ain’t too many of—”

“Oh, him! No, he didn’t say nothin’ before he left. In fact, I don’t even remember seein’ him leave. I thought he was up in the room with you the whole night.”

Monika gasped and quietly sat in one of the chairs.

Aggie crossed her arms. “No.” She paced in front of the bar, pouting. “All I remembers is him kissing me and then I wakes yesterday mornin’ with a stack o’ silver. Are you sure you ain’t heard nothin’ about where he is? If I can keep a man like that happy, I can fills my coffers and…”

Monika had heard enough. She stomped across the room and ascended the staircase. And to think I let him take such liberties with me and those kisses! Tears pricked her eyes and her stomach roiled. Those brief moments she’s shared with Broderick were so special, the sweetest she’d ever experienced. How could they not be true? Surely the feelings they had for each other were sincere. Monika stopped in front of Thomas’s door, wiping her tears. The girl was either lying or Broderick was…and a masterful liar he’d be if he was. Gritting her teeth and wiping her face dry, she shoved her anger aside for the time being. She’d deal with Broderick later.

She rapped on the door and tapped her foot, waiting longer than usual for him. Just as she raised her fist to knock again, the door swung open and she gasped.

Thomas stood shirtless, unshaven and hair mussed. He was almost as muscular as Broderick, sleek curves and hard edges, but in a smaller package. The effect Thomas’s nude torso had on her was nothing in comparison to seeing Broderick’s last night in front of the villagers. Her mouth had watered as Broderick turned his godlike body full circle and she’d devoured every inch of his skin with her eyes. He was a sight to behold! However, Thomas’s half-naked state was a mere surprise due to the inappropriateness.

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “Not feeling well?”

“And good morning to you, my dear,” he greeted with an especially low and gravelly voice. “I had not expected you to call so early. Please, come in.” He surprised her by stepping aside to allow her entrance without incident. She placed her basket on the desk.

Thomas shuffled to the center of the room and seated himself, putting his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the table.

“You lied to me.” She stood over him with her hands on her hips. “You said you locked yourself up on the nights of the full moon.” Unexpectedly, a lump clogged her voice when she thought of poor Brynner.

“Normally, I do, and I’m sorry.” At least he seemed contrite, his words thick with regret and sorrow. He sat back and sighed. “I had been out tending to some personal affairs and…” His ice-blue eyes traveled down her body. “I became so engrossed in what I was doing, I lost track of the time.” His gaze lingered on her breasts before they returned to her face. Any trace of sorrow was gone, replaced with smoldering desire.

She retreated a few steps and clenched her jaw. “You’ve endangered my friend, Brynner!” Monika crossed her arms over her breasts.

“Believe me, I regret doing so, but there would have been two people bitten last night if not for the timely intervention of a Vamsyrian.”

She hitched her breath. “A what?” Broderick?

“They’re the natural enemies of werewolves. Blood sucking, night dwellers who—”

“I know what they are. Are you certain it was a Vamsyrian?”

He scoffed. “I know one when I see one, my dear.”

Monika blanched. Herr MacDougal has a lot of explaining to do!

“We werewolves have a certain sense about them when they’re close. It gives us an advantage over them, along with the fact that they cannot hear our thoughts. A Vamsyrian usually won’t know when a werewolf is upon them.”

“Why is that?”

“You know about Vamsyrians, but not their connection to werewolves?” He shrugged. “The very purpose of a werewolf is to kill Vamsyrians. The venom of our bite, which causes the curse, is fatal to those blood-sucking monsters. We are, quite literally, the hounds of hell, but for the betterment of mankind. Honestly, if the transformation wasn’t so damned painful, I would enjoy being a werewolf.” He propped his foot on the table, spreading his legs as he leaned back in his chair, the contours of his groin very obvious in his thin breeches. Heat flushed to Monika’s cheeks and she diverted her attention higher. Lacing his hands behind his head, he displayed his full naked torso in all its muscular glory. If Thomas’s character wasn’t so shifty and selfish, she might actually be attracted to the man. His body was pure, physical art…but he knew it all too well.

She focused on his eyes. “Then why didn’t you kill the Vamsyrian?”

He glowered. “He had a silver blade.” Thomas put his leg down and winced as he stood. He attempted to pull the waistband of his breeches down, exposing a rather nasty cut on his hip, but the gash disappeared into his trousers.

Monika shook her head and retrieved her basket. Pulling up a chair, she sat beside him and riffled through her remedies for the treatments she needed. “Please pull your waistband down further so I may clean and dress the wound.”

He smirked. “I’m afraid it goes down much further than you might be able to handle.”

She pursed her lips. “This is my job, Herr Carr. Flesh does not bother me.”

He chuckled. “I warned you.”

Chapter Nine

Thomas unraveled the leather lacing just over his left thigh. With his right hand, he held his trousers in place over his groin. With his left hand, he peeled back his breeches to expose a thick laceration that started at his left hip and slashed diagonally across his buttock…his rounded, well-shaped buttock.

Swallowing to moisten her mouth, suddenly gone dry, she focused on finding the cleansing solution and cloths with shaking hands.

Thomas’s husky laughter stoked her already flaring temper. He hissed as she applied the cloth with the solution and fought to suppress a grin. As if in retaliation, Thomas released his right hand and feigned scratching his head. Her eyes darted to the thatch of black hair and the base of his member peeking from under his breeches. She clenched her jaw and doused the cloth with more solution, dragging it across his wound a little harder than she normally would. She was rewarded with a hiss and a grumble.

Thomas snarled at first, but then chuckled, apparently amused he’d elicited such a response from her. “You like to play rough, I see.” He voice dropped in tone and seduction. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“This is about as naked as you’ll get in front of me, Herr Carr.” She smeared healing ointment on the length of his gash, none too delicately, redirecting his attention to the pain. She grinned when he grunted. As she applied more salve, she noticed an old scar on his ribcage—a couple of inches wide and may have been a very deep wound. “That scar on your side.”

“That scar…uh, yes.” His eyes and mouth drooped with intense sadness, so sad Monika questioned his sincerity. “That is the first time a silver blade saved someone’s life.”

“How do you mean?” Monika searched for a bandage cloth and some strips.

“Many years ago, I attacked someone who had a silver blade. If not for that blade, I would have torn him to bits.”

Monika thought back to when she first entered the room and confronted him about Brynner’s attack. And now this account. What was his game? “But I thought werewolves—”

“Didn’t remember what happened while in wolf form?” he finished. “Not so, my dear. I remember every single bloody act, always watching in horror but never in control of my faculties.”

Liar! Monika clenched her jaw, but held her tongue. She was actually going to say she thought werewolves knew exactly what they were doing when in wolf form and was going to confront him. She knew better because of her father. But why would he want me to believe otherwise? Unless control is only available to some werewolves, such as my father?

A sad smile softened his steel gray gaze. “Are you quite well, Monika?” He caressed her cheek and she shoved his hand away.

Gritting her teeth, she slapped the bandages on the table and collected her supplies. “Just put the cloth over the wound and use the strips to hold it in place. I’m sure you can manage yourself.” She rose from her chair and stomped to the desk, making her hands busy with organizing the contents of her basket to keep her from wanting to torch the monster.

“I thought, perhaps, you were unlike other women. But I suppose not.”

She whirled on him. “What exactly are you implying?”

He crossed his arms and smirked. His breeches hung very low on his trim hips, threatening to fall off his body if not for his wide stance and muscular thighs. She was fairly certain his growing erection might also have something to do with keeping his trousers in place.

Monika thought she might be treading on treacherous territory, if not for his calm demeanor.

“Oh, that you’re sympathetic one moment and when I say something complimentary, suddenly you push away and you’re angry.” He shrugged. “I understand. It’s all part of the games women play. They run.” He lowered his voice. “We chase.”

The new, predatory glimmer in his eyes escalated the situation to dangerous and Monika stopped the sarcastic retort she was about to throw at him. She crossed her arms to still her shaking hands and cover her breasts, using every ounce of her will to appear calm and unperturbed. “If you would finish dressing your wound and put your clothes back on, I’d like to get these transcriptions finished.” She smiled.

Thomas’s hungry gaze traveled the length of her before he chuckled and reached for the bandages.

Monika turned back around to the desk to finish organizing her basket, then arranged the quill, ink and parchment for her task, praying he didn’t notice her quivering hands or hear the thundering of her heart, which seemed so loud in her ears.

“You must hate me.”

She jerked at his nearness.

He laid warm, comforting hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry. Being around me must be unnerving. I embody the monster who killed your mother.”

She sighed. “Thomas, you’ve been a werewolf for six years. Locking yourself up at night should be routine for you. I’m angry that your carelessness has put someone I love in danger.”

His grip tightened on her shoulders. “So Brynner is your lover?”

She shrugged out of his grasp and stepped aside. “Brynner is like a brother to me, not that it’s any of your business. But you seemed more concerned with yourself than the safety of others. That is what angers me so!”

Thomas’s eyes flashed yellow and Monika held her breath. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, turning his back to her. “Forgive me. I really shouldn’t be around you right now.”

“I understand,” she said in an effort to keep him calm. “I’m close to finishing the transcriptions and I’m learning more as I go along. I am very hopeful we’ll have a cure soon, so Brynner’s condition might not be an issue. And you won’t have to deal with this curse any longer.”

He nodded. “I’m glad you suggested that. Perhaps we can be sure the cure works on Brynner.”

Monika hitched her breath. “What?”

“I probably should not have said that.” He held up his hand when Monika opened her mouth to protest. “In my current condition, I’m liable to say nothing right. I’ll not keep you from your task. I’ll just tend to my wounds.” Thomas snatched the bandages and walked to his bed where he proceeded to drop his trousers.

Monika gasped. “Herr Carr!” She stomped out the door, closing it behind her and paced the hall. Just to be sure she was seen, she awaited him at the end of the corridor on the landing of the staircase, arms crossed and fuming. The audacity!

After several moments, he emerged shaven, hair combed and dressed. “I’ll not return until a couple of hours before nightfall.”

She glowered at Thomas, who dipped his head in farewell and traipsed down the stairs to the tavern level of the inn. Huffing, she stormed back into the room, slamming the door behind her.

Monster! She plopped down at the desk to conduct the transcriptions.

Katrina’s experiments went on much longer than Monika anticipated, but her mother was very thorough in her studies. And some of the tasks she had Marcus do made Monika a little uncomfortable. It was almost as if Katrina had no sympathy for him, as if the pain he was suffering meant nothing to her, which was very unlike her mother.

However, as the entries continued, Katrina began including personal notes—which Monika did not include in the transcriptions—and the callousness of her mother became clear. “I had originally questioned why Symon insisted Monika not be present whenever Herr Sparenland came to call,” Katrina wrote. “But I have come to understand his reasons and I am grateful for his discretion and methods. I have tolerated Marcus’s lewd remarks and comments about my own appearance since his first visit—although Symon has been ready to rip out Marcus’s throat—but to make such lascivious comments and glances at my twelve-year-old daughter? This werewolf is a beast in both animal and human form.”

Monika paused and thought back to any time she would have seen Marcus Sparenland. Mina had always taken her away during his visits. How was it possible he had seen her? She resumed the transcriptions, but the next section was a continuation of the personal entry. “When I saw Marcus admiring Monika across the courtyard with such lustful eyes and pulled him inside, I gained full understanding and questioned Symon that night. He admitted to seeing Marcus that first day he approached our cottage seeking assistance. Symon had returned from harvesting medicinals, and Marcus stood staring at Monika and Irma while they played across the way. By the time he approached our cottage, Symon overheard Marcus and I speaking, and those inappropriate compliments he paid me. I had always wondered why my husband reacted so violently toward Marcus, as I had never known Symon to be a jealous man. I now know. I wholeheartedly agree with Symon. We will continue to keep Monika away during his sessions.”

She sat back and nodded. Now she remembered. She and Irma had been sitting on a patch of dirt at the edge of the cobblestone courtyard playing noughts and crosses, scratching the “x” and “o” marks into the soil with sticks. A game they’d played a hundred times, but this incident stuck out in her mind because her father had raised his voice and grabbed a dark-haired man by the shirt at the door of their cottage. Her father never raised his voice, let alone showed any violence toward someone. Mina had been sitting close by, visiting with Irma’s mother, and ushered Monika and Irma into Irma’s house.

Though Monika made considerable progress on the transcriptions, she was dismayed when Thomas walked through the door, her work not complete. She flipped through the book until she found the last entry. The rest of book held blank pages for additional entries.

“And how did you fare today?” he asked, more contrite and less flirtatious.

“Not finished just yet. I have approximately twenty or so pages left.” She stacked the papers and placed them in her basket. “But I should finish on the morrow.”

“Then tomorrow will be a sad day for me since I will not have the pleasure of your company.” His apologetic smile surprisingly seemed sincere.

“But you will be that much closer to a cure.” She clasped her hands before her and leaned against the desk. “I’m sad to say that Marcus had to endure more testing in the entries I transcribed today. My mother would give him herbal mixtures with instructions to create infusions or teas. He would try them just before nightfall and report his findings the next day.” She bowed her head. “The notes I just transcribed detailed some of the attacks. My parents had done well to protect me from seeing the wounded. I had only learned about them and attended their burials.” Tears moistened her eyes, just as they did when she read the pages. She wiped them away. “I had always thought they died from being torn apart by the werewolf.” Monika shook her head. “Marcus had convinced my mother to try the cure on those afflicted. She approached them with the suggestion and, though many of them were afraid, they seemed more willing to brave the cure than be cursed. They had all died in my mother’s arms.” She wiped the tears from her face with her palm and now understood why Edda cast her such a sad and apologetic gaze last night. Edda had respected her parents’ wishes and never let Monika know how they died.

“Very good.” Thomas handed Monika one gold coin. He nodded very cordially to her and opened the door, making it very clear he wanted her to leave. “I will see you on the morrow, then.”

Monika frowned. “Good day, Herr Carr.” She collected her basket, left the room and made a hasty exit from The Red Stag, ensuring she avoided the innkeeper. As she stomped down High Street, she clenched her jaw. Callous and uncaring, Thomas had dismissed her as though their lives meant nothing. It was obvious he didn’t like being put in his place, nor did he appreciate her lack of interest in him and that seemed to be his concern…not the lives of others. Monster.

A hard grip on her arm caused her to wince and twirled her about. Fist raised, she was prepared to fend off the innkeeper.

“It’s me!” Jason exclaimed.

Monika relaxed. “For goodness sake!”

“I called your name several times and you kept walking.”

She released an exasperated sigh and made a small effort at pulling from his grasp. “I apologize if I seemed to ignore you. I was rather lost in my thoughts.” Even if she had ignored Jason, wouldn’t it have been obvious she wanted nothing to do with him? She shifted her shoulders to pull from his grip, but he still held tight. “Herr Kiefer, would you—”

“The way you left the inn, I thought the innkeeper had hurt you again.” His brow scrunched with concern.

“Honestly, the way you grabbed me, I thought you were the innkeeper. Will you please release me?”

He frowned. “Are you well?”

Had he not heard her? She nodded. “Yes, I am well. Now please—”

“Then why do you look so angry? Are you sure the innkeeper didn’t hurt you and you’re just not telling me?”

She gawked at Jason. This oblivious young man acted as if she owed him explanations and accounts of her well-being as if they were courting. “I appreciate your concern for me, but it’s very inappropriate.”

His frown deepened. “Why is my concern inappropriate? A man should care about the woman he’s courting.”

“Herr Kiefer, you walked me home one day. That is hardly enough cause to—”

His mouth descended upon hers and she pushed away before their lips touched. She cracked her palm against the side of his face. “You have spoken to me only on two other brief occasions and you have the audacity to make such advances? Good day!”

Monika marched away from a stunned cluster of observers and a frowning Jason Kiefer. She continued to glance behind her to be sure he didn’t follow. Thankfully, he didn’t. “Be careful what you put your spirit toward,” her mother had once warned her. “You might not receive what you expect.” How right you were, Mama. Monika decided she would most certainly not perform the final day of her ritual. Besides, she had a more pressing matter to contend with. Broderick MacDougal—a whoring Vamsyrian.

* * * * *

Broderick sat at the edge of his bed, frowning. According to his dreams, Monika was none too happy with him. Not only did she discover he was a Vamsyrian, but she learned about Aggie. He had plenty of explaining to do. Broderick rose to dress. One thing was for certain—if Monika confirmed what he witnessed in his dreams, she was indeed Davina. He paused before putting on his boots and smiled. I don’t think I care about the whys or hows anymore. I have my Blossom. He shoved his stocking foot into his boot.

His smile faltered. But she’s still Monika. He had to respect that. She may have some memories of their life together, but since she didn’t go running into Broderick’s arms the moment they met, she did not have full recollection of who she was in her prior life. He pulled his shirt over his head and shrugged into his doublet. Perhaps that will come with time. Blowing out his lamp, he emerged from his cabin and secured his hat upon his head.

“Evenin’, Cap’n,” Andrew greeted. “We stayin’ indoors again tonight?”

“If you please, Andrew.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, my friend. I just don’t want to take any chances that—”

“No explanation needed.” Andrew patted Broderick’s back. “We have a few prospects for hirelings. Just give the word and we’ll bring ’em before ye.”

“Let’s wait on that for now, until this cycle of the moon passes. Just a few more days.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Andrew winked. “Below deck, lads!”

The crew said their goodnights and Broderick got his feeding out of the way before he headed toward Kostbar.

Monika swung the door open, a scowl on her lovely brow. “Come inside. The ward has been taken down from the house.” She turned her back to him and stalked to the hearth, where she crossed her arms and tapped her toe.

Aye, she was most definitely Davina. He chuckled and closed the door behind him. Removing his hat, he looked for a place to hang it, but found none. Giving up, he pinched the brim between his fingers and waited for her tirade. The fire in the hearth burned bright and the cottage was very warm.

She put her hands on her hips. “Pray tell what you find so amusing, Herr MacDougal.”

“My apologies, milady.” Broderick bowed. “I am delighting in your fiery spirit. I understand you are very upset with me, but I can explain.” He thought of hanging the hat on the back of one of the chairs, but thought the better of it.

She crossed her arms again and glanced at the door. “Yes, you did seem prepared to enter my home. No more little displays of being mortal or pretending you couldn’t enter my house because of propriety.” Her chest heaved while she contemplated.

Broderick noticed a necklace he had not seen before hanging over the swell of her breasts. It must have been blessed with the incantation and why he no longer heard her thoughts. He fidgeted with his hat.

Monika fingered the charm. “Yes, it has been spelled with the same chant we used on the house. I was told Vamsyrians could hear one’s thoughts.” Her face flushed pink and she clenched her jaw. “I can only imagine what you’ve heard me think over the last few days. How could you?” A log in the hearth toppled and flames surged while embers sparkled upward.

He offered an apologetic smile. “With all due respect, I don’t usually share that I’m a Vamsyrian with people I’ve just met. But that’s not what has you angry.”

She clenched her fists at her side. “How do you know what has me angry?”

“Nothing happened betwixt myself and Aggie.”

Her lips parted with surprise and her shoulders slumped, the fire taken out of her argument. “How is it you know these things?” The hearth seemed to dim.

“Please, sit with me while I explain.” Broderick wondered if he should put the hat on the table.

“Oh, for goodness sake, give me that!” She snatched his hat and hung it on a peg he hadn’t seen by the door.

Broderick chuckled. “I’m not very fond of hats.”

“Well, you certainly don’t look comfortable with one.” She pursed her lips, suppressing a smile.

A wolf howl, off in the distance, shattered the mood.

“Curse him!” Monika yanked the door open and scanned the courtyard, Broderick right behind her. “I can understand one night, but two nights in a row?”

“What do you mean?”

“Thomas told me this morning he had been so busy with personal matters last eve, the day got away from him and he couldn’t lock himself up in time. I doubt that is the case tonight.”

“Stay in the cottage. I’ll get him before he harms anyone.”

She grabbed his arm. “Please be careful.”

He kissed her brow and ensured they were alone before he dashed down the south road out of the village. An acrid obscene odor assailed his nostrils, so he slowed down to investigate. He sniffed the air again and winced. Whatever it is, it smells like rutting animals. A few steps further and the scent became so overwhelming, Broderick darted his gaze around to find the source. He narrowed his eyes when he spotted white, jellylike splotches on a bush. Pursing his lips and cocking an eyebrow, he shook his head. Frigging out in the open woods? At least I do it in privacy. Taking a few steps forward, he noticed a small clearing inside a coppice of very dense trees with the underlying scent of burnt wood and…Monika?

Another howl pierced the silence and Broderick drew his sword before he dashed through the woods toward the eerie cry. He passed through a draft of the pungent, musky odor of the animal and redirected his path to follow it. The scent grew stronger and he picked up his pace, but then it disappeared. He slid through the leaves to a halt and stalked back and forth, sampling the air, trying to find the trail again.

A loud crash and a scream cut through the forest and the blood drained from his face. “Monika!” Broderick hunkered down and made a mad dash back to Kostbar.

Coming out of the south passage of the village, the werewolf charged straight for Broderick. Sword at the ready, he assumed a battle stance. At the last moment, the wolfman dodged Broderick’s arc—but not enough. The blade sliced along its hind leg. Broderick had swung so hard, the momentum whirled him around. Snarling, the werewolf doubled back and leapt at an odd angle. Before Broderick could bring his sword around to counter the attack, he had to duck to avoid its jaws, then threw the beast over his shoulder. Broderick cried out as razor-like pain sliced across his back.

The werewolf leapt high into the air and latched onto a tree, digging its claws into the trunk. The lips on its muzzle peeled back and it snickered.

Rick’s brows drew together. He gripped his sword, waiting for the animal to descend. Instead, it threw its head back, howled and then leapt from one tree to the next for several yards before it dropped to the ground and kept running, out of sight. So that’s how I lost its scent—it took to the trees.

Panting, Broderick spun toward the village and ran, dreading what he would find. Rounding the small stone wall at the edge of the settlement, Broderick trotted into the cobbled platz where Monika ran toward him. With a hefty sigh of relief, he sheathed his sword right before he gathered her into his arms. “You’re all right.”

She nodded. “The Schmieds were almost attacked.” Monika pulled him by the hand to the gathered villagers in the courtyard.

“Damned creature tried to crash right through our cottage!” Helmut exclaimed. “But the wolfsbane worked! He was burned and was thrown through the air! He crashed over there into my barrels.” Across the courtyard, beside the blacksmith’s shop, pieces of wood littered the area.

Broderick nodded. “I’m glad no one was hurt. I was at least able to slash the beast across his left leg. Silver isn’t easy for a werewolf to heal from. Be watchful of anyone with a fresh wound.”

The villagers nodded in agreement. Nikolaus waved his cane. “You best be findin’ that cure, young lady.”

“I know.” A sad smile touched Monika’s lips. “I promise you, I’m working very hard to do so.” She squeezed Broderick’s hand before she let go to comfort a young pregnant woman, who was apparently shaken by the ordeal.

A large man standing next to her patted her hand. “Let’s go back inside, treasure.”

She rubbed her large belly and nodded.”

Monika grinned. “Thank you, Hans.”

A wave of dizziness toppled Broderick’s senses and he dropped to his knees.

“Helmut!” Monika rushed to Broderick’s side. “Oh, God, he’s been wounded. Quickly! Bring him to my cottage.”

Broderick lurched and staggered as large hands grabbed him and two hulking figures pressed in at his sides, throwing his arms over their shoulders. Once they brought him to his feet, the dizziness passed and he shook his head to clear the haze. “Nay, I’m well now. You—”

“Don’t listen to him,” Monika ordered. “He’s as stubborn as an ox.”

Laughter echoed off the buildings around Broderick as Helmut and Hans dragged him across the courtyard.

“You’d better listen to the healer,” Hans warned. “She’ll delight in making things difficult for you if you don’t.”

Monika mumbled the incantation to bring down the barrier before they helped Broderick through the door and sat him in the chair she held steady for him. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

Helmut and Hans tipped their hats and exited, closing the door behind them.

Broderick hissed when she tried to take off his doublet. He straddled the chair, putting his back to the hearth. “Here, cut the thing off me. And who are you calling stubborn?”

Monika’s husky laughter filled the warm cottage. “You! I’ve never seen anyone so damned stubborn about feeling ill or hurt.”

“If you’re referring to the incident in the courtyard when we first met, I had been drained by the barrier you had around the house and was trying to avoid telling you I was a Vamsyrian. ‘Come inside,’ you insisted.”

She chuckled.

“What should I have said? ‘Actually, would you mind taking down that magickal barrier from your house so I can enter? I’m a Vamsyrian, you see.’ I would have paid a sack of gold for the look on your face.”

Monika threw her head back and guffawed. “You are quite right. I yield!”

Broderick resisted the urge to moan. Yield. I would enjoy that very much. He folded his arms over the back of the chair and rested his chin on his forearm. “You’d best cease that laughter before you take a blade to my shirt.”

“Fear not,” she chortled. “I have skilled hands.”

Why did everything she say turn his thoughts to the bedroom? Because you’ve always been a rogue when it comes to your wife. He smiled. “We should finish our conversation.”

“You suggest that while I have a blade in my hand?”

Broderick’s chest rumbled. “Quite right. I shall wait until you put the weapon down.”

Her husky twitters floated around him and settled into his heart. The material ripped as she dragged the knife through his doublet and then his shirt. Peeling back the garments, she encouraged him to sit straight. “Go ahead and take them off. I’m afraid they’re beyond repair.”

“Just burn them.” He stripped the sleeves off his arms and handed her the shredded clothes, which she promptly tossed into the hearth. Although he expected the clothing to smother the fire, it managed to catch nicely. Broderick shrugged and leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms again.

She touched his back with tender fingertips. “I’m relieved to say the scratches aren’t very deep.”

“That’s good know. I’m glad to see the wolfsbane worked so well.”

“It didn’t, actually.”

“What do you mean it didn’t work?” When he twisted around to face her, he winced and she pushed his shoulders to lean forward again.

“The other night, when you told me Vamsyrians were also known as the Blood of the Cursed?” She dipped a cloth into a tincture of some kind and dabbed it over the scratches.

Broderick winced and nodded.

“It made me think of how werewolves are also called ‘cursed’. So I took an extra precaution. Thomas had mentioned how werewolves are the hounds of hell and you mentioned that Vamsyrians were created by Satan. I just assumed…”

“That if the chant worked against a Vamsyrian, why not a werewolf?” Broderick smiled. “You’re very clever, Fräulein Konrads.”

She whispered against his ear, “Monika.”

Broderick shivered and his breeches tightened across his groin.

She feathered her fingers over his shoulder. “These look like old scratches.”

“Aye. My first encounter with a werewolf.” Broderick wondered if these new scratches would also ache with remembrance. He doubted it.

She stepped to the table, standing beside Broderick, and sprinkled several different herbs into a mortar and pestle, which she ground together. “It was more than just an attack, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “I was in England, on one of several quests to find answer to so many questions. The creature had charged me, taking me completely by surprise. Not only because I had never before encountered a half-man, half-wolf being, but because I didn’t sense it coming.”

“Thomas told me werewolves have that advantage. He says they’re made to kill Vamsyrians.” She dumped the crushed herbs into a wooden bowl and drizzled honey over the herbs, then added a few sprinkles of water with her fingers. With her hand, she stirred and kneaded the mixture.

“Reddish-brown, wiry hair covered its body bulging with muscles. It was a terrifying sight and I lay on the ground, stunned. My left shoulder burned and bled from the gouge made by its claws, which was also a shock. I would have recovered from such a wound by then.” Broderick closed his eyes and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “When it lunged for me again, I sliced its head clean from its shoulders. The lifeless body melted back into the broken form…of a woman, her red-haired head lying on the ground by her feet.”

Monika laid a comforting hand on his shoulder over the old wound, which ached.

“My Vamsyrian friend, Laurent Bellamy, had helped dress the wound, claiming the poultice he used had herbs to draw out the poison.”

“I’m glad you said that. The poultice I’ve just prepared is also for drawing out poison.”

He smiled. “You have excellent instincts, milady.”

With delicate fingers, Monika spread the poultice over the gashes.

Even Laurent had not known werewolves were “Satan’s weapon” against Vamsyrians, but what little Broderick knew of werewolves, he learned from Laurent. Broderick’s shoulder had taken several months to heal and years passed before the constant ache had subsided to a dull throb, eventually fading to a memory and only resurfacing when he recalled the incident. The woman’s bent visage was burned into his mind and linked to the scars. These scars on his back would mean nothing to him.

Monika finished applying the poultice and rinsed her hands. Taking a large square of cloth, she laid it over the scratches, gently pressing the material so it would adhere to the honey-herb mixture. “Come, stand up for me.”

He complied and, with the tender coaxing of her fingers, he raised his arms over his head. She used longer strips of cloth to wrap around Broderick’s chest and back. The task forced her to wrap her arms around him to grab the bandage as she passed it from the front to the back and to the front again. Her hair brushed against his ribs and he shuddered. Her breath caressed his chest and he closed his eyes. Her fingertips skimmed his belly and he sighed.

“Are you in much pain?”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

She cinched his bandage and he grunted, his eyes popping open to a very disgruntled beauty.

He cocked an eyebrow and laced his fingers behind his head. “Perhaps we should—”

Monika gasped. Her trembling fingers touched her lips before quivering toward the underside of Broderick’s left arm. “The mark.” She touched the dark stain, then gazed at him with pleading eyes. “Tell me what’s happening. Why are you in my dreams? Why are you here? Is it coincidence? Surely not to expand your business.”

Broderick dropped his arms and guided Monika to the chair. He pulled up another, sat before her and held her hands in his. “My business is a reason to stay…but it’s not why I’m here.” Where to begin? “Do you believe a soul can be reborn into another body?”

“Yes, although the Church has tried to tell us otherwise.”

“Why do you believe this if the Church has taught otherwise?”

“My grandparents and parents have always told me we live many lives. Each life, we try to learn lessons and become a better person, or better our spirits, then we pass and move to the next life. More than that, it’s something I believe in my heart.” She frowned. “Why do ask me this?”

“I was told, and now I believe, that you are…Davina, my wife. You were her in your previous life.”

Monika’s eyes welled with tears. She yanked her hands from him and stalked to the hearth. “If I am your wife reborn, if I am so special to you, then why were you with that woman? You say such beautiful words. You make me want to believe we have something unique and yet you spend a night with her, right after we shared our first kiss.”

Broderick bowed his head and sighed. Say the right words, Rick. He raised his head. “What did you hear? What did she tell you? Because I promise you now that I did not spend the night with her.”

“I want to hear your words.”

He nodded. “I have been raised to believe that a soul lives and dies and either ascends to heaven or descends into hell. As a Vamsyrian, I was told making this choice to become immortal was not only turning my back on God, but my soul was trapped within my body. It’s why we thirst for blood—to kill and build sins against our souls so we are beyond redemption.

“Then a prophetess of a sect of priests and nuns tells me my wife Davina’s soul is the key to redemption for all Vamsyrians. That there is a prophecy that will save our souls from damnation. And yet…” Broderick cleared his throat to speak over the grief clogging his words. “My wife dies of consumption. And eighty years later, on the day of my wife’s birth, I am so overcome with grief and yearning to be with her, I wander and my journey takes me here, to Germany, where the prophetess finally appears and tells me you are my wife reborn. Understand, this concept of souls being reborn is foreign to me and this prophetess is known to manipulate. All of this stunk of her machinations. I found it difficult to believe that Davina could live again, as much as I wanted it to be true.”

“Why do you believe it now?” Monika still stood guarded, her arms crossed over her midsection, her eyes suspicious and it was a dagger in Broderick’s heart. Her acceptance and open affection were gone.

“There is one thing Davina and I shared…dreams. Vamsyrians don’t dream. During our daytime slumber, our minds are normally utter blackness. And yet when I was in close vicinity of Davina, I would dream. All she need do was think of me and I would know what she was experiencing during the day. Monika…I haven’t dreamed since the day she died. Not until I came to Vollstadt, just a scant two miles from you. How you have been thinking of me before I even met you, I don’t know.”

Her brows creased and tears spilled over her cheeks. “I have been dreaming of a Scottish lover since the end of winter. Your voice. Your accent. The mark under your arm.”

“Since the end of winter? February?”

She shrugged. “Yes, I think so. Why?”

“Davina’s birthday is February nineteen.” Broderick glanced to the side, pondering. “How old are you?”

“Three-and-twenty as of April eighteen.”

The corner of his mouth curled. “You were two-and-twenty in February—the age she was when we met and fell in love.”

“So you learn I’m your wife in a previous life and flee to the arms of another woman?” She gritted her words. “Explain this to me.”

“Forgive me. Everything I told you yesterday, about not being with another woman because I felt it would betray my love for Davina was true. When I kissed you in the kitchen house—”

“You regretted it?”

“No.” He rose and took one step forward. “It felt right. But I wasn’t certain if all this about Davina being reborn was true or if I was just craving the touch of another. Monika, I haven’t had relations with another woman since I met my wife. I haven’t touched a woman since my wife died, except in the capacity of feeding. I took Aggie to the inn to determine if what I felt for you was genuine or just a desperate need to be physical.”

Monika’s bottom lip quivered. “So you bed her to—”

“Nay! I couldn’t do it. She was just blood to me.” Broderick dropped to his knees before her, but she wouldn’t let him take her hands. “I felt ill and disgusted with myself. I used her for blood and rendered her unconscious. She stayed the night in the room and I left a small stack of silver on the bedside table for her time. Vamsyrians have the ability to wipe some portions of memories from a mortal’s mind. I wiped the experience of the feeding from her. She should have only remembered going to the room and then waking with silver on the table.”

Monika’s brows rose and fresh tears raced down her cheeks.

“I needed to know if what I felt for you was real. I never want to betray my love for my wife. She was my reason for living. But the dreams I’ve had of you have convinced me this is all real. You are Davina.” His own tears clouded his eyes. “It is through these dreams I know you learned about Aggie. How I know Thomas told you I was a Vamsyrian. I know a rather bothersome young man named Jason has been after you.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Broderick gritted his teeth. “And I know this Thomas will be a dead werewolf when I get my hands on him.”

“So much makes sense now. Why I only see you at night. How you could possibly face two werewolf attacks and live. And I believe these dreams I’ve had are my memories of my life with you…as Davina.”

She pulled the necklace over her head and dropped it to the floor, then placed her palm on Broderick’s cheek and he closed his eyes, covering her hand with his.

“Everything feels so right with you, Broderick. You have indeed leapt from my dreams into my arms. I was so hurt…” She covered her mouth and new tears coursed down her face. “The thought of you being with someone else crushed me and I couldn’t explain it because I’d only met you a few days ago. But now it all makes sense.”

“Blossom, I’m—”

She laughed through her tears. “Yes! That’s what you call me in my dreams!”

Broderick buried his face in her belly and she cradled his head.

“Together forever,” she whispered.

Broderick hitched his breath and gazed at her through his tears. “Eternally yours.”

Her mouth descended upon his, hungry, seeking, open and accepting. His hands slid under her skirt and up her thighs to cup her bottom and lift her from the floor, their mouths fused together. Wrapping her legs around him, she moaned as Broderick carried her to the bed in the next room. With eager hands, Monika fumbled with her bodice.

Broderick ripped the lacing open and tossed the shredded garment to the floor. “I’ll buy you a new wardrobe.”

She chuckled as they fell to the mattress with a grunt. “Ah! And a feather mattress,” she groaned.

“Aye, that, too.” He pulled her skirt and chemise down her body, revealing her creamy skin and graceful limbs. Her pert and perfect breasts rose and fell as she panted and writhed on the bed.

Sitting forward, Monika reached for the leather laces on his breeches, tugging and unraveling them until she could eagerly yank his trousers down his hips and thighs. His erection jutted before her and she paused. Mouth open, she darted her eyes from his cock to his face and smiled. “I hope I can please you as I have in my dreams,” she whispered, her breath caressing his sensitive skin.

With a groan, he stepped back and removed his boots before dropping his breeches to the floor. Naked before her, he knelt on the bed, his knees betwixt her thighs, and she lay back, gazing at him with hooded sapphire eyes. “After eighty years of fisting myself, Blossom, I’m sure you will do more than just please me.”

She moaned sympathetically. “Oh, you poor man.” Monika tugged on his hand and he bent forward over her, bracing his elbows on either side of her head.

“I can only assume you are still a virgin.”

She nodded and smiled.

“Monika, if you want me to wait until we are wed, I—”

Chapter Ten

Monika seized his cock and Broderick groaned. “Don’t you dare,” her throaty voice threatened. “I have been waiting months for this moment to become reality.”

His deep laughter rumbled from his chest and she pulled his mouth down to hers, biting his bottom lip, sucking his tongue when he dove into her mouth, drinking him in any way she could. She smoothed her hands over his hard muscles, the sharp masculine angles of his chest and abdomen under his bandages…that delicious cut of muscle above his hip. Monika moaned and inserted her legs between his, so she could wriggle her body further down the mattress, with the intention of tasting that tempting part of his body she’d dreamt about. However, when she achieved her desired position, and his knees straddled her ribcage, his beautiful cock demanded all her attention. In her dreams, she had done shameful and exciting things with her mouth and her sex clenched at the recollection.

“Och, woman!”

“I know…I’m going to be the death of you.” She chuckled and reached for his shaft. She delighted when he hissed. “I have always loved the way you responded to me in my dreams.” As she lay beneath him, she explored his soft sack hanging below with her other hand, fascinated by his composition and texture.

He panted. “God’s blood, woman, how should I respond?”

“Just the way you do. You’re perfect.” A clear drop bloomed from the head, like dew on a mushroom. She pulled his cock down to her mouth and tasted the salty bead with the tip of her tongue, kissing his silky skin, hot against her lips. Broderick groaned and shuddered. Opening her mouth, she wrapped her lips over the purple head of his rod, filling her mouth and swirling her tongue to taste him.

He pulled from her mouth with a growl and yanked her up the bed, nudging her thighs open with his knees. Before she could protest, his lips claimed hers, his tongue delving deep. He reached between them and grabbed his cock, stroking the head along her cleft. “Uhhh,” he breathed against her cheek. “You are so wet.” He suckled her bottom lip and dragged the length of his shaft along her wetness as he pumped his hips.

“It aches between my legs.” She gasped and grabbed his buttocks.

With his voice husky and breathless, he said, “I believe you’re ready to receive me, but this may hurt a—”

“Broderick!” She raised her hips.

His laughter rumbled against her breasts. “As you wish.” Broderick lifted his hips, his gaze fixed on hers and filled with such tenderness, she wanted to weep. He thrust his hips down and slid inside Monika in one swift movement.

She hissed. He pulled out, then slid back in, drag and plunge. The pain meant nothing in the wake of pleasure that thrummed through her core. Monika moaned and met each thrust, lost in Broderick filling her, his thick rod stroking her soul. He grunted and her stomach fluttered. “I want to hear you,” she coaxed. “My God, I want to know you enjoy this…as much as I do.”

Broderick released a long moan and grunted into her hair, cradling her head to his shoulder as he rocked into her. “Enjoy?” He cupped her bottom, angling her up as he plunged deeper. “Doesn’t even begin…to describe this.” The tip of his cock hovered a moment over her entrance before thrusting back inside. He pulled back, hovered and plunged. Monika groaned and threw her head to the side, gasping from the ecstasy of every inch of his shaft, from tip to sack. Sliding his hands under her back, he gripped her shoulders and increased his pace, pumping, driving, panting, building.

Monika squeezed her legs around his waist, and clutched his buttocks as they flexed with each heavy thrust, hanging on as the pressure exploded in her core and shuddered through her body.

Broderick continued to pump and threw his head back, groaning and crying out her name, his legs trembling. He bowed his head to touch his brow to hers, puffing against her cheek, his elbows braced around her shoulders. “My apologies, Blossom,” he said between breaths. “I know that was a bit rushed, but I had a very difficult time holding back. I will make efforts to take my time from now on.”

She couldn’t stop her husky laughter from fluttering through her hand. “Surely you jest! You moved the earth for me, my darling. Can our lovemaking truly be better than this?”

It was Broderick’s turn to share his hearty laughter, which rolled like thunder against her breasts. “Dove, I have not yet begun to make love to you.” He chuckled when her jaw dropped.

She cupped his jaw and brushed her thumb over his dimple. “I love to hear you laugh.”

He sighed. “It feels so good to do so again. To have cause.”

Ritual or destiny, I care not why he is in my life. I hope I can always give him cause to smile and be happy.

Broderick’s brow creased. “Ritual?”

She gasped. “Oh, bother! It completely slipped my mind that you can hear my thoughts!” She buried her face in his shoulder.

He chuckled and she melted under the rich and rumbling tones. “Aye, I have been told it’s an annoying habit. I shall promise you what I did in your previous life and do my best not eavesdrop on your thoughts from now on.”

She grinned. “Thank you.”

A roguish smirk twisted his lips. “But I’ve heard it now, so you must enlighten me.”

She laughed. “Ah, well…the wonderful dreams I was having about you made me very hungry for such a love in kind. I waited months for the right opportunity to perform a ritual that would bring me my perfect soul mate. When both my father and grandmother were gone a few days ago, I seized my chance. And here you are.”

His seductive grin grew wider. “So you’re saying I fell in love with you because of a love spell?”

“Well…”

Broderick blessed her with a toe-curling kiss and Monika sank deeper into bliss. “Blossom, you didn’t need a spell. I’ve loved you for well over a hundred years…and I won’t stop loving you. You are my perfect mate, for all eternity.”

Monika lay under Broderick, breathless…speechless.

“And you take your time confessing any declarations of love. In this life, you have known me just a few days. I will wait until you are ready.” He laid a finger over her lips. “Just wait. However, I will not wait to wed you, but we will talk about that on the morrow.”

Monika grinned and kissed the tip of his nose. She didn’t need to wait. She knew. But if waiting made him feel better, she would.

He eased himself to her side and grunted as he propped his head upon his hand. “Damned werewolf.”

“How is your back?” She tried to sit up, but he held her down.

“All is well.” But Broderick grumbled. “I will be even better when he’s dead.”

“Broderick, no. As a werewolf, he is dangerous. Now that I have you in my life, I do not want to lose you. Please let me continue to work with him until I can get my mother’s book and finish finding that cure. Then he will no longer be a threat.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “If I kill him, I can get you the book and he still won’t be a threat.”

She sat up and glared down at him, trying to ignore that his eyes went straight to her breasts. “No! He is human during the time you are resting. The only time you can confront him is at night, when he is most dangerous.”

He cocked an eyebrow and caressed the back of his knuckles over her nipple. “Then I will wait until the cycle of the moon has passed.”

She stilled his hand, ready to caress her other nipple. “That’s another five days from now and I am not waiting that long to get my mother’s book. I have waited ten years to find that tome and I once thought it was lost forever.” She clutched the air for emphasis. “Now that I have it in my grasp, I’m not taking any chances it will get away from me.”

Broderick sat up. “What is so important…?” He sighed. “You want the book for your father. This is about your father.”

He must have heard her thoughts about Papa. “Yes. My father is a werewolf.”

“Was it your father I wounded my first night here?”

She nodded. “I believe so. Once you told me you were attacked your first night, I pieced it together.”

He cupped her face. “I know this is important to you, but I don’t want you anywhere near that monster. He’s a rogue and a liar.”

She sneered. “Well, it takes a rogue to know a rogue.”

Broderick scowled.

She chuckled and kissed his pouting lips. “I agree. He is a rogue and a liar. But we now know the chant works against werewolves, so he can’t harm me. I will be certain to put the ward up before I see him. I promise.”

After releasing a long, exasperated breath, he nodded. “Be sure that you do.” His gaze returned to her breasts, where he leaned forward and drew one nipple into his mouth and fluttered his tongue over the already tightened peak.

Monika shuddered and sighed.

“Right now, woman, the only place I want you is under me.” Broderick covered her body with his, parting her thighs with his knee and nuzzling her ear with his mouth.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed and bit his shoulder. “You’re still ready for more? I thought men couldn’t continue after they…well, you know.”

Broderick frowned. “Where did you hear such a thing?”

“Well, we womenfolk have conversations.”

He chuckled and slid inside her, groaning. “If a man cannot continue after he reaches fulfillment, he’s with the wrong woman.” Nuzzling her ear, he whispered, “I cannot get enough of you. I never could.” He pumped his hips and she moaned. “Now let me show you how I take my time making love to you.”

Monika was too weak under his touch to respond, except to cry out his name…over and over again.

* * * * *

Angus stepped down from his carriage and surveyed the courtyard of the monastery just a mile northwest of Vollstadt Village. This was one of the last Roman Catholic monasteries within a thirty-mile radius, most of the Catholic establishments having turned Protestant. But it was Angus’s last stop on his personal twenty-eight year quest to finally secure an advantage over Broderick MacDougal. Just one more member.

A fragile elderly monk with a thinning gray tonsure opened the door to a small building ahead, worry creasing his age-speckled brow. His dark brown robes were frayed at the edges and dusty along the hem, kicked out by his sandaled feet as he scuffled forward. He stopped short and cast a critical gaze over Angus’s attire. “Inquisitor Angus Campbell?”

“Aye.”

Suspicion laced his scrutiny. What manner of folly is this?

“And you are?”

“Abbot Cromer.” He stood perplexed. He isn’t even properly dressed.

Angus cocked an eyebrow. “What troubles you, Abbot?”

“I expected an Inquisitor to be wearing…”

Angus rolled his eyes and started walking through the gates of the monastery. The abbot shuffled after him. “I suppose more formal attire might be required here in the north to maintain an obvious Catholic presence amongst the Protestants. However, not only am I utterly unconcerned with the formalities of dress, I am also not your typical inquisitor. I operate less from a state of piety and more from a position of law.” He stopped and faced the winded abbot. “Additionally, I do not wish to advertise my station. Such common clothes are not forbidden by the Church. Is this a problem for you?”

Abbot Cromer stuttered for several seconds before shaking his head. “Of course not.” A little young for such a lofty station. And a bit arrogant. “What a pleasure it is to see you’ve arrived safely under the good Lord’s care.”

Angus snorted and continued through the long corridor, emerging into the courtyard.

“I am Abbot Georgius Cromer. Welcome to Götthafen Monastery. Allow me to show you to your accommodations.”

“Thank you, Abbot.” He followed behind Cromer, who waved his hand at passing monks, snapping orders for Angus’s trunks to be brought to the guest cottage.

As he toddled alongside Angus, the abbot cast him an annoyed glance. “You honor us with your presence, Father. I do hope you find your time here comfortable. I was sure to have the cottage readied for your stay. In fact, the Prince-Bishop—”

Angus waved him off. “I’m sure what you have to offer is more than adequate. As long as I have a place to lay my head and some privacy to conduct my studies, I need nothing more. I am but a humble servant.”

“Of course, Father. Of course.” Cromer nodded. Pompous youth. He led Angus to the eastern side of the courtyard to what he had thought was a small chapel. The tiny yet elegant structure was made of stone and stained glass windows, depicting the Prince-Bishop in all his holy glory. The abbot pulled the large ring of keys dangling from his rope belt and, after fumbling to find the right one, inserted the key into the lock of the decorative oaken door. Riveted to the center of the door, which was carved with various images of saints and angels, was a large iron knocker etched with olive branches. The abbot stepped inside and immediately strolled around the room, lighting candles and oil lamps.

Angus followed, sauntering to the center of the finely furnished room. A large, wood-carved canopy bed was the centerpiece of the east wall, opposite the entrance. A matching carved desk and chair stood on the north wall next to a tall wardrobe. A sitting table and chair on the south wall, for eating or reading. All crafted in intricate detail and dark wood. The room would not be complete without a prominent display of the beaten and bleeding crucified Christ, which hung on the west wall. Delightful dining décor. “I’m impressed, Abbot Cromer. This is so much more than I had anticipated from such a modest monastery.”

“Yes, Father.” He bowed briefly before Angus and folded his hands before him. “As I was saying, the Prince-Bishop was most insistent on having guest quarters that met with his approval. He commissioned the carvers and the builders himself. Very generous of him.”

Four monks shuffled into the room, bearing Angus’s two trunks, which Angus instructed be put at the foot of the bed.

“Inform Father Angus’s attending deacons that he has arrived and summon them immediately,” Abbot Cromer instructed, once the trunks were in place. He clapped his hands twice. “Hurry along, now.”

“Wait, that might not be necessary.” Angus addressed Abbot Cromer. “Unless Father Wilhelm is available now. Is he?”

“I’m…afraid he is not. He has been on a small pilgrimage, but is expected back on the morrow.”

Angus clenched his jaw. “I see.” He leveled his gaze at the one monk that remained, waiting for instructions. “Don’t waste the time of my deacons by summoning them. Just inform them I’m here and will call upon them when they are needed.”

The middle-aged man nodded and exited. The abbot closed the door and faced Angus. “Father Angus, with all due respect, are you sure you were given the correct information about Father Wilhelm? He has been at our monastery since his he was a young boy of eight. Orphaned, he came to stay with us and has only known the teachings of the church. How could he possibly be a heretic?” Overzealous young chap isn’t going to get one of my own killed just to advance his undeserved position.

“That is how well he has hidden himself, Abbot. He has fooled one of the people closest to him.”

The abbot reigned in his temper…on the surface. “As I said, I mean no disrespect. I just can’t imagine Wilhelm doing anything resembling what might be interpreted as heresy. I’ve known the boy most of his life!”

Angus’s brows rose. “I understand how upsetting this might be, Abbot Cromer, but you should be careful when questioning your superiors.”

Cromer’s mouth flattened to a grim line and his face flushed. “I have been a diligent member of the Church for twice the length of your years and—”

“Abbot, I’m an Inquisitor.” Angus grinned and cocked an eyebrow.

“Are you threatening me, young man?”

Angus laughed. “Oh, no. I’m just reminding you of something you have obviously forgotten. Or perhaps you weren’t informed. Questioning me is questioning His Holiness the Bishop of Rome, our Pope. You see, I was appointed by him for an elite task. I’m not eliminating just any heretic. This isn’t about catching witches or people who don’t regularly attend church. And it isn’t about me abusing my undeserved position.”

Cromer blanched.

“This is about a secret sect of individuals who have invaded the heart of the Church and I have a special talent for finding them, in spite of my youth. I assure you, I’m older than I appear.” He stepped closer. “No, dear Abbot, I’m not threatening you. I making it very clear that I am here to do a job and I will do whatever it takes to get that job done. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, Inquisitor Campbell.” He glared at Angus. We’ll just see about the results of your interrogation.

Angus smiled. “I like your passion, Abbot. Just don’t let it best you. That will be all.” He gave the abbot his back and strolled to his desk, rearranging the writing implements.

The abbot grumbled and slammed the door behind him.

Damn it! Just when he thought he was nearing the end, he had to wait another day. Angus clenched his fists and inhaled deeply, then relaxed and released his breath. I’ve waited this long. Another day will just have to do. He only needed one more member of the Army of Light…and he would finally have Broderick where he wanted him.

* * * * *

Monika arched her back in a feline stretch, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her naked skin, which still tingled from Broderick’s caresses and endless kisses. She sighed and tangled her legs in the coverlet while she peeked out at the early morning sky through the partially opened shutter. Although her dreams—actually memories from her previous life as Davina—were true to form, the reality of making love to Broderick far surpassed the misty images she’d had while she slept. He’d made love to her until dawn was almost upon them and neither of them wanted to stop.

In spite of how lethargic her limbs were, she rose to perform her ablutions, anxious to finish the transcriptions. Whether she’d actually complete all the notes, though, she would be walking home with the book by the day’s end.

Breaking her fast with some bread, honey and cheese, she then gathered all the loose papers she’d transcribed thus far, shoving them into her basket of remedies, and hurrying out the door toward Vollstadt.

“Another early morning?” Thomas frowned at her as he braced his forearm against the door frame, assessing her with bloodshot eyes and mussed hair. Again, he had not yet shaven and was bare-chested. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Come in, my dear.”

She nodded and padded past him into the room and straight for the desk, where the book awaited her. Setting her basket aside, she pulled the ink bottle, quills and parchment from the drawers, then sat and began opening the book.

“Nothing to report since yesterday?”

Monika twisted in the chair and regarded him. He stood with his rump against the center table, his arms crossed. The expectancy on his face forced her to swivel around to face him. She folded her hands in her lap, doing her best not to release her temper. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve come up with nothing else in my reviews of the notes I’ve made so far. I believe the answers I seek will be in this final segment of transcriptions, which I hope to finish today.”

“I see.” His eyes searched her face, ever-so slightly narrowing in speculation, but he shrugged. “I suppose I will let you continue, then, if there’s nothing you need from me.”

Monika evaluated her supplies then shook her head. “No, I believe I have everything I need, thank you.”

“There’s something…different about you.” Thomas swaggered forward, bending over her and forcing her to lean back. He braced his hands on the desk on either side of her, trapping her in his arms, his face very close to hers. “I can’t quite name what I’m seeing or…” He inhaled through his nose. “Smelling.”

Monika inwardly cursed for not putting the barrier up before she entered the room, like she promised Broderick. However, now that she was in this situation, doing so might have caused Thomas to become defensive before she could get the book. She pressed her hands on his chest and pushed back. Relief swarmed through her when he retreated, though only enough to give her some breathing room. “Herr Carr, I am flattered by your attention. There’s no denying you are a comely man, and I’m sure you will one day make some woman very happy. I’m just not that woman.” She offered an apologetic smile, even though her heart rammed furiously in her chest. “Let me finish the job you’ve paid me to do.”

He chuckled and crossed his arms. “I appreciate your directness. Perhaps once this werewolf business is finished, we can revisit this obvious attraction betwixt us.”

Her lips pulled into a tight smile and she inclined her head. “Perhaps.”

Thomas strolled to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened the lid. He then bent over, sliding his pants down his perfect backside and muscular legs.

Monika gasped and choked. “Good God, Herr Carr! Have you no decency? You insist on trying my patience!” She averted her gaze and dashed into the hall, grumbling at his muffled laughter.

Thomas eventually emerged from his room with a rakish grin. “I shall return before nightfall.” He winked and swaggered down the hall.

She slammed the door behind her and stomped across the room to the desk. Monika flipped through the pages to the place she last marked with a scrap of parchment and grumbled. Only after several deep breaths did she relax. She counted the remaining pages and groaned—three-and-twenty.

She was exhausted and her mind kept wandering to Broderick throughout the day, but with diligence, she refocused on the task at hand. She learned she was correct about her mother trying to find a balance through the elements, and Katrina directed the rest of her studies on perfecting the herbs to that end. However, the further Monika progressed in the notes, the more emotional the job became as she discovered how matters had escalated. Angry tears clouded her eyes, making it difficult to write. She had to keep her kerchief at the ready, continually blotting away tears. However, she was able to finish transcribing all the pages. And none too early. Thomas waltzed into the room just as she was organizing all the notes and stacking them neatly for him. Grabbing her basket and cradling the book in her arms, she stepped away from the desk and left the pile of notes for Thomas.

“Were you able to finish as you hoped?” He set his hat and satchel down on the center table and ambled to the desk.

“Yes, I was, but the notes are incomplete.” She struggled to keep her voice from quavering. “My mother died before she could finish the work.”

His eyebrows creased. “So there is no cure? Then why did Marcus say the cure was in the book?”

“I don’t know, but he should have known it wasn’t in those pages because he’s the one who killed her before the cure could be found. Perhaps he was experimenting with what he knew. What did he tell you?”

Thomas flipped through the latter entries of the transcriptions. “Only that he was going to try the cure on me and said it was in the book.”

“Well, I didn’t read anything that said they developed a cure. However, there were several more experiments that took the lives of my parents’ friends in the village, the people who were bit by this other werewolf Marcus claimed was running about while he chained himself up. As I touched upon already, he had convinced Mama to ask for volunteers to test the cure. He may have been conducting his own experiments based on what he’d seen her do.” Monika’s bottom lip quivered and she stilled it between her teeth. “He seemed too callous about their deaths. My parents knew something wasn’t right, so they confronted him.”

“I’m sorry. Reading about what your parents and their friends went through must have been difficult.”

Monika narrowed her eyes. Only now are you sorry? His concern didn’t deserve a response. “Marcus confessed he was indeed the one infecting others and didn’t seem the least bit regretful of his actions. He had even said he did her a favor by providing subjects. Werewolves weren’t in vast numbers roaming the countryside, he said. He claimed she would have been experimenting for decades if he hadn’t infected them. After that, my parents refused to work on the cure. They told Marcus to take his money elsewhere.” Monika flipped to the final entries of the book in her arms. “My mother quoted Marcus saying, ‘I understand your hesitation. Perhaps I went about this all wrong and money wasn’t the proper incentive like I hoped. I’m sorry.’ Only on the next cycle of the moon, Marcus attacked our cottage, infecting my father and killing my mother.” She clenched her jaw and tears scorched down her face. She closed the book and hugged it to her chest, fighting the tears stinging her eyes.

“I’m sorry to have put you through this, but you’ve done a wonderful job so far. We’re almost there.” Thomas ambled back to the center table and produced a few gold coins, dropping one on the floor. When he bent to pick it up, he grunted and favored his left leg—the same leg Broderick said he’d slashed with his sword on the werewolf he fought last night.

I knew it! But Monika wasn’t going to confront him about his lies now. She had the book and she was getting out of there. “I’ve done my part. I’ve transcribed all the pages related to the research. I would like to take the book as final payment. You don’t need to pay me any more gold.”

Thomas chuckled. “I can’t do that, my dear. You haven’t found the cure yet. I feel we’re very close, though. I’m sure if you read those final entries, you’ll finally arrive to something, and you have Brynner in which to help with your findings.”

He didn’t seem any less moved by Brynner’s plight than Marcus had about the others. He disgusted her. “I’m still going to continue my research, but I can’t do it here and I need the book to proceed.”

“I agree you need the book, but you can’t take it with you. I didn’t guard that book with my very life for ten years just to give it up because the pages were translated. Leave the book, Monika. You can return on the morrow and conduct your research here.”

The blood drained from Monika’s face. She mumbled the chant under her breath, erecting the barrier around her person.

He set the gold coins on the table and gathered the pages into a neat pile once more. When he glanced at her, he stopped fussing with the papers and frowned. “Is something wrong? You look positively distraught. All is well, my dear.” He set the pages aside and walked toward her, his outstretched hand obviously going toward her face to comfort her. His knuckles slammed into the invisible barrier less than a foot in front of her nose and his skin hissed. He grunted and stepped back, shaking his hand. “What in—” His brows crossed and his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Would you care to explain?”

“You said ten years.”

“Pardon me?” He placed his hands on his hips.

“You told me…Marcus captured you six years ago, yet you just said you’ve had the book for ten years.” She clenched her jaw and gripped the book so hard her fingers ached.

“Did I?” His gazed up to his right, as if trying to recall his words. He chuckled. “I guess I did, but it was a slip of the tongue. I would hardly say that’s cause for alarm and such drastic measures.” He pointed his index finger forward to the barrier, where his fingertip sizzled. He jerked back and frowned. “That’s quite enough! Monika, give me the book.”

She shook her head. “For as many years as you have been a werewolf, locking yourself up as you say, the procedure should be routine. And yet you attacked the village last night, trying to create another test subject.”

Thomas’s jaw dropped. “I think that journal has you a little too entrenched in the past. Are you actually comparing me to Marcus? You speak as if I’m in control of my faculties when I’m a wolf. What kind of a monster do you think I am?”

“A desperate one…Marcus Sparenland.”

“You’re mad!” His eyes flashed yellow and he pounded his fist against the barrier. “You’ve lost your senses!” He slammed his shoulder into the magickal barricade, not once but several times, pounding and grunting, but unable to get to Monika or the book. He panted and stomped away from her, pacing the room and grumbling. Then he pointed an accusing finger at her. “You know there is another werewolf around here. You have been so desperate to get your hands on that book because you want the cure for your father! He’s alive because I’ve seen him. Perhaps you should ask him who he’s attacked lately.”

“I don’t have to.” She dropped her tearful gaze to his bleeding leg. “I already know it was you. And that scar on your ribs…given to you by my father the night you attacked him.” Her lips trembled and angry tears flowed down her face. “You infected so many of our friends, with no thought of their lives. They meant nothing to you! Were you stupid enough to think my parents wouldn’t figure out it was you? And when they held you accountable, you killed my mother and gave my father the curse. Why?”

Marcus glared at her, his fists clenched at his sides and his eyes glowing yellow.

“It doesn’t matter. You can burn in hell for all I care.” Monika fled to the hall and, when she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she dared a glance to see how close he pursued. Marcus leapt after her and slammed into the barrier, which threw him backward, where he crashed into the table at the opposite end of the hall. A collective gasp hissed from the patrons below.

“That magick won’t protect you for long, Monika,” he snarled, as he picked himself up from the floor, grunting.

She scampered down the staircase, where the innkeeper narrowed his eyes at her from the bar. She pushed past the slack-jawed and stunned faces of the patrons and ran out onto High Street to escape any other attempts Marcus might make to pursue her.

Monika gripped her basket and the book and clipped down the street, trying not to give anyone reason to be suspicious, skirting the buildings and avoiding the main thoroughfare. When a firm hand seized her arm, she screamed and whirled to face Jason.

“I knew it!” He clutched both of her arms, towering over her and glaring. “That innkeeper is still bothering you, isn’t he? Why do you keep going back there?”

“Good God, Herr Kiefer! Will you let me go and stop chasing me?” She struggled to wrench free from his clutches.

“I’m concerned for you, Monika!”

“That’s enough! You and I are not courting.” She grunted as she twisted her arms, the book and her basket now on the ground. She glanced over his shoulder to see if Marcus was nearby, but her view was blocked by gawking passersby. She lowered her voice. “I thought I made myself very clear, you and I are not suited. I am in love with someone else, so please leave me alone!”

He tightened his grip and Monika cried out as he pushed her against a wall. “What? No! You can’t be in love with someone else. You’re not being fair! You haven’t given us a chance. I know you’ll love me once—”

She brought her knee up between his legs. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his groin.

“Stay away from me, or I’ll do a lot worse than kick you where it hurts!” She snatched her basket and book from the ground and sprinted out of Vollstadt before Jason could recover and go after her. Fear propelled her the majority of the path home. She glanced over her shoulder often, but thankfully no one followed. When at last she’d arrived at her cottage, she bolted the door and shutters and chanted to erect the barrier around the house. Reasonably protected, she collapsed into a chair and sobbed at the table.

Once she’d spent her frustration in tears, she made a pot of chamomile tea with trembling hands. She sweetened it with honey and indulged a few fingerfuls of the golden treasure while she fought more tears. A couple of hours had passed before she could finally relax enough to prepare a shallow tub of lavender water and cleanse away the grim and anger of the day. As she sat in the water, wiping the cloth down her body, she gazed at the daylight fading between the cracks in the shutters. She wept, relieved that Broderick would be there soon.

Chapter Eleven

Broderick strolled from Vollstadt, down the road that led to Kostbar, his steps slow and sure. Squinting, Broderick strained to understand what lie ahead. A small crowd gathered, encircling what might have been a dog fight, based on the snarling and the barks. As he drew closer, however, screams mixed with the growls and grunts, and Broderick pushed through the crowd to find Thomas in werewolf form, tearing a woman apart and Davina screaming from the far side of the circle. A man ran forward and stabbed the werewolf in the side. The beast howled and turned on his attacker, biting him, then lunged for Davina.

Broderick cried out and, before his sword cleared his scabbard, the animal bounced off an invisible wall erected before Davina, then ran into the woods. Not moments later, the obsessive young man named Jason ran toward her, grabbing her by the arms and professing his undying love. Broderick stomped forward and reached out to grab the youth’s shoulder, but Davina kicked Jason in the groin and the man collapsed to his side, curling into a fetal position. One thing was for certain—this woman could take care of herself.

He shook his head at the pathetic Jason and sheathed his sword. When he looked up, Davina had vanished, along with the witnessing crowd. He dashed toward her cottage and burst through the door. There she sat, naked and in a shallow tub of water, weeping.

“Blossom,” he whispered and knelt beside her, caressing her cheek, wet with tears.

She smiled up at him. “You’re finally here.” Davina rose and, with delicate fingers, tugged at the buttons of his doublet. Her sapphire eyes glistened and crystal tears slid past her sad smile. They worked together to strip Broderick of his clothes. Davina stepped out of tub and into his arms, her naked flesh wet and searing his skin, her mouth seeking his. He smoothed his hands down her sides, brushing his thumbs against the globes of her breasts before traveling down to her waist. He cupped her bottom and lifted her. Davina wrapped her legs around his waist and he groaned when her hot, wet center pressed against his erection.

Monika pulled back from their embrace. “Make love to me, Broderick,” she pleaded.

Broderick sat up in bed, thankful the night had arrived. He would much rather make love to her in person than in his dreams. He jumped into his breeches, tugged on his boots and pulled his shirt over his head before dashing out the door.

Andrew tipped his hat. “Evenin’ Cap—”

“Evenin’, lads.” He hopped over the port side, turned to mumble the incantation over the ship and waved. “Stay aboard tonight.”

“Uh…aye, Cap’n.” His first mate waved, his brows raised.

Broderick dashed through Vollstadt at a mortal pace until he reached the empty road toward Kostbar, then picked up speed. Monika was too far from him for his taste and he couldn’t wait to wed her, where she’d be safe with him in their own home. In the meantime, he should move her to his ship.

He arrived at her cottage within minutes, where he rapped on the door, sensing the barrier around the house. Good girl.

“Who is it?” she asked through the door.

“It’s me, Blossom.”

The bolt slammed and she swung the door open. The sadness and relief in her eyes nearly broke his heart.

Broderick recited the first part of the incantation—the request for the ward to come down. Her lips parted in surprise and she recited the response. Once the barrier dropped, he rushed into her arms, crushing her against him as he lifted her. She sobbed into his shoulder. Rick kicked the door closed and sat in a chair, cradling her in his lap. As he stroked her hair and rocked her, he noticed a large, wood-and-leather bound tome on the table…the book he’d seen in his dreams. On the cover, the tree of life—as the prophetess had called it—and the pentacle nestled within the roots.

Monika pulled back and wiped her face with the back of her hands.

“I see you have the book.” He brushed the tears still dangling off her chin.

She nodded. “I also learned that Thomas is actually Marcus Sparenland.”

“The man who caused the fire?”

She gave a half-shrug. “He bit my father to motivate my mother to find the cure. They found out he was turning people.”

“I thought he had killed those people. The ones Edda said died in your mother’s arms?”

“They died of the cure she was trying to create.”

“God’s blood,” he whispered.

She wept on his shoulder again and he comforted her while he seethed about Marcus.

“Based on what I saw in my dreams, the ward worked against Marcus.”

“Yes. Too bad it doesn’t work against everyone.”

“Aye, I have wished that many times myself. You handled yourself well with Jason, though. I’m proud of you.”

“There are two very angry men out there.”

“And you have one fierce Vamsyrian ready to dispatch them here. You have the book. They’re mine.” Broderick rose and set her on the floor. “Stay in the cottage and put up the ward.”

He claimed her mouth for a brief kiss, but when he pulled away to walk out the door, she grabbed his arm. “No!” She threw her hand out toward the door and rattled the incantation off faster than Broderick had ever heard. “You’re not going out there. I need you here with me.”

He frowned at the door, then swung his head back to her. “Did you just use magick to lock me inside?”

She crossed her arms. “I did.” She stomped through the house and put a block on every window and the back entrance. “If I didn’t make myself clear enough last night, hear me now. I will not risk losing you to the venom of a werewolf. If I have to make you my prisoner and feed you my own blood, then that is what I will do!” Monika punched her fists onto her hips.

Broderick tossed his head back and guffawed.

She suppressed a grin. “Besides, I need to check your bandages, so sit down.”

He chuckled. “As you wish.” Removing his shirt, he reveled at the hunger in her eyes as they roamed over his torso. He straddled the chair, as he had the night before, so his back was to the hearth. Broderick shivered when her soft touch removed the bandages. He peered over his shoulder at her intense gaze while she unwrapped him. Such a contrast to the sobbing and vulnerable woman he’d held in his arms moments ago. He rested his chin on his forearm. “Helping others distracts you from your own pain, doesn’t it?”

The movement of her hands slowed for a moment. “Hrmmm. I never considered.” She resumed her busier pace then tossed the bandages into the fire. “Mayhap you are correct.”

With a warm, wet cloth, she wiped away the poultice. Each stroke of her heated hand, the gentle touch of her fingers, melted over his skin and his cock twitched in response.

“Oh, that’s much better,” she whispered. “You’re healing remarkably well.”

He sighed, stirring over her sweet breath against his ear. “That’s good to know. The last wound I had took months to heal.”

As she bent forward to place the wet cloth on the table, her breast brushed against his shoulder. Broderick groaned.

She chuckled. “Based on those old scars, I would say they were much deeper gashes then these new ones.”

“Aye.”

While she rinsed the cloth by the hearth, Broderick stood and turned the chair so he could sit proper. Monika sashayed next to him and rested her rump on the table, crossing her arms. “We should keep the bandages off for now.”

He nodded and reached for her waist, pulling her to stand between his knees. “Did you get much sleep after I left?” He began unlacing her bodice.

Her full mouth twisted into a smirk. “Not much.”

“Then I have to apologize, because you won’t get much sleep tonight, either.”

She smiled and drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “I was hoping you would say something like that.” Monika shrugged out of her bodice and tossed it to the table, then reached around his head to untie the leather strip holding his hair back. She tossed that to the table and ran her fingers over his scalp from his brow to the back of head. Broderick sighed. Sliding his hands under her blouse, he caressed her nipples until they peaked against her chemise. Monika clutched his head and arched her back, moaning.

Eager to feast on her skin, Broderick stripped her clothing from her lush curves until she stood naked. Her pert and full breasts jutted before him and his mouth watered. He cupped her right breast, flicking his tongue over her peaked nub while she gasped. Nibbling his way to her other breast, he lavished it with the same attention, suckling, flicking, holding both sumptuous globes in his hands.

“I want you naked,” she breathed.

Broderick enjoyed one more sweep of his tongue around her nipple before standing and unfastening his breeches. With boots shed and trousers pooled on the floor, he bent forward and possessed her sweet lips with a demanding kiss. He groaned as her hands explored his chest and abdomen, which flexed in response to her flame-like touches. Her hands massaged over his hips, working back to his buttocks, and squeezed. She knelt before him and he held his breath.

Her plump lips parted, her tongue darting out to moisten them as she gazed at his erection. Her hungry eyes glanced at him and a wicked smile curved her mouth. She wrapped her slender fingers around his shaft and Broderick hissed for their heat. “Up and down like this?” she whispered as she stroked him.

“Harder,” he grunted. “You can’t hurt me, so don’t be afraid to squeeze.”

Smiling wider, she did just that and Broderick dropped his head back and groaned. God’s blood, he loved her sexual curiosity. Davina in her previous life was so timid and submissive in the bedchamber until he taught her to be more bold. In this life, she hadn’t been taught to be afraid of making love and seemed to only have the memories of their joyous coupling. He gasped when his prick was engulfed with wet heat. Dropping his gaze, he moaned at Monika’s lips around his cockhead. He raked his fingers through her chocolate tresses and cradled her head as it bobbed on his staff. He panted when she massaged his ballocks and her other hand stroked his shaft in unison with her mouth. That was exactly what he’d taught Davina to do. His legs trembled and his eyes fixed on her lips sliding up and down, her fingers glistening, her lids closed, and she moaned. The vibrations of her voice caused a shudder to course across his abdomen.

She pulled away from Broderick, licking her lips, but still stroking him. “I remember doing this in my dreams. Am I doing it correctly?”

He groaned. “Oh, Blossom, you’re perfect.”

“May we try something?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Feeling adventurous, are we?”

She nodded, still stroking his shaft. “There is a certain position we’ve done in my dreams…not often, but it’s one I enjoy most.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “I think I know. Would you like see if we’re thinking of same one?”

Her eyes glimmered and she nodded. She twirled and sashayed to the bedroom, her round bottom swaying deliciously. When he reached her side, he waved to the bed. “On your hands and knees.”

She knelt on the mattress and bent forward on all fours.

“Before we do that…” He nudged her knees apart with his hand, then smoothed his palm over her back. “Put your shoulders down on the bed. Leave your luscious arse in the air for me.”

“Oooo. This sounds wicked.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Deliciously wicked.”

When she dropped her shoulders to the bed, Broderick dragged his tongue along her wet cleft.

Monika groaned into the bedding. “Oh, God, Broderick!”

Flicking his tongue up and down her wet folds, he moaned, enjoying the taste of her and the melody of her cries. She clutched the coverlet as he speared his tongue inside her, delving deep and penetrating her as his cock ached to. She tasted like heaven, so musky, so subtly decadent and rich. He sealed his mouth around her clitoris, fluttering against the tiny nub, and in moments Monika cried out a breathless climax. He gave her one last, long lick, which elicited a languorous moan from her. Broderick knelt behind her, grabbing his cock to guide it, and sheathed himself in her tight heat, both of them moaning as he buried himself to the hilt.

“Ohhh, yes. This is it.”

“Aye,” he groaned. “This was our preferred way of making love. Not performed often, but favored.” Broderick rocked his hips, slowing pulling out then thrusting inside her. He shuddered as he witnessed his hard shaft sliding in and out of her wet core, each slow stroke driving him higher.

Monika whimpered and panted. “Faster. Please, faster.”

Broderick grabbed her hips and pumped, his ballocks slapping against her, plunge and drag, each thrust pushing him further toward his limit. He slowed, wanting to draw out the pleasure for them both. He raised one knee, resting his foot on the bed to give him better leverage. Although he enjoyed the view of her round arse raised high, the slope of her beautiful back, he wanted to see her face. But not before he made her climax in this manner. Placing his palm on the small of her back, he made a slight adjustment of his angle and drove into her with steady, deliberate strokes.

“Oh, yes! Oh, Broderick, that’s divine!” Monika pushed back into him, meeting each of his thrusts, encouraging him to drive harder.

Her muscles squeezed him as she reached her apex. What he hadn’t expected was his own thundering climax. He dropped his head back, grunting and groaning. Their cries mingled as Broderick spent himself, gripping her hips and shuddering. Panting, he pulled from her and encouraged her to lie back. Covering her body with his, he nestled his hips between her thighs and slid back into her. God’s blood, her flesh seared his cock.

With her fingertips, she traced some of the scars on his chest and ribs, kissing them, brushing her tongue and lips over the battle scars. “What happened?”

He frowned. “I’m sure we will have many more discussions of my past, but for now let us just say there is a long history of fighting between my family and a small portion of Clan Campbell.”

“So these are all from clan wars?” She kissed the scars on his biceps.

“Aye, and against one particular man—Angus Campbell, my brother.”

Monika gasped. “Your brother?”

“I didn’t know we were brothers until Angus put you…Davina…in the middle of our feud.” He grumbled. “’Tis a long story I don’t wish to go into at the moment.” He glanced down at his failing member. “I would much rather make love to you and this is not helping.”

She nodded. “Broderick…would you…I’m curious.”

“What, Blossom?” He kissed her brow and brushed a stray lock from her shoulder.

“Would you feed from me?” She bit her bottom lip with a coy smile.

Pain sliced across Broderick’s gums as his fangs extended. His jaw unhinged. Just the mere request of feeding from her and The Hunger raged to the surface and his cock filled with need again. Monika gasped. However, she regarded him with fascination…not fear.

“Your eyes,” she whispered. She placed her palms on his cheeks. “How beautiful! Like silver. They glow like a candle.”

Broderick studied this fascinating woman, gazing into her delighted sapphire eyes, at her precious smile curving her full lips. She was adventurous, curious, enthusiastic and filled with fire. “You are a wonder, my sweet Monika.”

“It is you who are the wonder, my love.” She touched the tip of her index finger to one of his fangs.

“You were never this accepting of what I am in your previous life.”

She pursed her lips. “Then I was fool. I know better now. See…we improve with each life.”

He laughed. “I would be honored to feed from you, Blossom. ’Tis the greatest coupling we could experience together.” His voice was thick with love for this soul in his arms. “Know that when I feed from you, I will learn everything about you, everything you’ve experienced from the day of your birth until this moment. No secrets.”

Monika hesitated, her lips parted, her gaze searching. She swallowed. “Very well.”

Broderick narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain?”

“Will I know the same about you?”

“Nay.”

She pouted. “That hardly seems fair.”

He smiled. “As I’ve mentioned, I’ve seen a lot of bloodshed and horrors in my years. ’Tis good I will not share those with you. But I can share some of our marriage in your previous life.”

“I would like that very much.”

Perhaps doing so would give her full recollection of her past life. Broderick could only hope. He brushed his lips across hers, tender caresses and gentle licks. As he pumped his hips, he kissed a wet path along her jawline and down to her neck, where his tongue sampled her pulse. Monika’s hand cradled Broderick’s head, encouraging him. He opened his mouth and pierced her tender flesh, drinking deep the woman of his heart and soul. Monika fell limp in his arms, moaning as he thrust into her. He absorbed her years, learned her childhood memories, witnessed shared moments with her parents and grandparents, the members of this village, experienced the grief of family and friends who passed on, and gained Monika’s knowledge of herbal remedies and treatments. She had helped bring children into the world, helped others make peace before they died.

And he saw her dreams. Davina’s memories of her love for him. Any shred of disbelief Broderick may have had until now faded like smoke on the wind. She was, without doubt, Davina’s soul inside Monika’s body, Davina reborn.

However, more importantly…he learned what Monika truly was…a supernatural creature in her own right. Shielding her from the experience, Broderick lived the day Marcus attacked her family through Monika’s eyes…

“No, little treasure,” her mother corrected. She took the pestle from Monika and demonstrated how to grind the herbs in the mortar. “Roll your hand thus. You won’t tire as quickly.”

“Ah.” Monika grinned. “Thank you.” She took the mortar and pestle back from her mother and worked at repeating the same motion Katrina just performed.

“Kat,” Symon said, pulling a jar from the shelf. “Should we add—”

The door crashed into splinters and Monika screamed, falling to the floor as she recoiled from the flying wood pieces.

“Kat!”

Scrambling back into the corner, Monika screeched as her mother was hurled across the room like a rag doll by a creature from a nightmare. Wolf-like face with pointed ears and snarling teeth. Bulky, muscular man-like body covered with wiry black hair. Claws the length of her hand. She gasped when her father pulled the shiny silver knife from his belt and lunged. “Papa!”

The blade sunk into the monster’s side. The werewolf bit her father’s shoulder.

Monika’s screams mixed with her father’s tortured cry. She stood, her mouth open, the noise piercing her ears. Flames roared in the hearth, scorching the ceiling. The cottage crackled as fire licked the walls and roof. Her mother stirred and Monika ran to her side, talking the flames away from her. When she tried to ask the flames to stop eating their house, her mother’s dress caught fire. Monika used her hands to cover the fire on her mother’s dress, putting out the flames, but the house still burned.

“Go, Monika,” her mother slurred, blood oozing out of her mouth. “Get out.”

“Not without you!” I’m a Fire Witch. I can control the fire. “Papa!”

“Monika! I can’t reach you! Put out the fire!”

“I can’t!” She sobbed while keeping the flames from touching her mother. “Mama!” Hooking her arms under her mother’s shoulders, she yanked with all her might.

“That’s it, honey!” her father encouraged. “Pull Mama! You can do it!”

Monika kept the flames from touching her mother, willing them away from her clothes and skin, pulling on her arms and dragging her from their burning home.

An agonizing groan of wood pressed down on Monika followed by a startling crack.

“Monika!”

Her father cried out and a hand yanked her by the collar, away from her mother.

As she fell backward, she shrieked and the cottage crashed in a blazing heap on top of Katrina. “Mama!”

Symon wailed and flames covered his back. Monika ran after her father and pushed the fire from his body. Thankfully, he was not burned too badly. She stared at their home reduced to a smoking inferno…her mother burning inside. She and her father wept in each other’s arms. Monika had blamed herself for killing her mother since she was the cause of the fire. Eventually, she learned her mother was already dead when Marcus threw her across the room. The blood from her mouth was the fatal sign Katrina would not have survived, even if Monika had been pulled from the burning cottage.

Broderick retreated from her memories, ensuring none of them seeped into Monika’s current train of thought. To help him overcome the trauma of that horrid day and to keep his promise, he shared with Monika some of his favorite moments of their marriage—painting Davina’s portrait, their journeys at sea, the first time he fed from her, her Amorous Invitations.

He reached his peak, trembling as he clutched to Monika. She cried out with him and bucked against his hips, clinging to his back. When he broke from the crimson kiss, he was on his knees, Monika straddling his thighs and panting. He licked her blood from his lips, savoring every last drop. She stared at his mouth, her lips parted in awe, then kissed him. He groaned.

“That is my new favorite position,” she whispered against his mouth, panting.

He smiled. “Feeding while I make love to you?”

She nodded. “Every night.”

He shook his head and gasped for air. “Not every night. You need time to recover.” He brushed his thumb over her mouth as he cupped her face. “But I would much rather feed from you than anyone else, so I will indulge as often as possible if it is to your liking.”

“To my liking?” She fell back in his embrace, playing as if she’d fainted, her arms dangling.

Broderick chuckled and brought her upright. Reflecting over the last few days, he recalled how fire seemed to respond to her emotions, how easily she had struck the kindling in the kitchen house, the heat of her skin—so hot each time she touched him. He fixed his gaze on hers. “You hide your magick well, my little Fire Witch. And your grandmother is a High Priestess?”

She nodded. “Yes, but the Grove we belong to hasn’t assembled in a few years due to the persecutions. We meet for important events, like a birth, death or handfasting. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Having fed from you, I can understand why.” The tears he fought so hard to hold back slipped down his cheek.

“Oh, darling!” She kissed his tears away. “What is this?”

He released a ragged breath. “What you endured the day Marcus attacked your home. You were such a brave wee lass.”

“Such a heart you have, Broderick.” She spread kisses all over his face.

“Only for you, Blossom.” As with most feedings, the memories from the blood took a few moments to settle, sort and solidify with his own experiences. Like a fog lifting, certain events over the last few days came into view…and deep-seeded hatred boiled in the pit of Broderick’s gut. The obscene odor of rutting animals…the semen on that bush…and the clearing surrounded by trees where Monika performed her spell…where she fingered herself to a climax. That wasn’t a rabbit in the brush…it was Marcus. Red clouded his vision.

“Broderick?”

Her trembling voice snapped him out of his dark, murderous thoughts and he gazed at her wide, sapphire eyes, regret slicing through his heart. “God’s blood, I am sorry.”

“What were you just thinking?” She swallowed and the corner of her lips attempted a smile.

He sighed and shook his head. “Sometimes it takes a few moments for all the experiences of the person I’ve fed from to make any sense. Let’s just say Marcus Sparenland is dead werewolf.”

“What did—”

He covered her mouth with his, licking, sucking and nibbling her silent. “Later.” Some blood dripped from her wound and he licked the small gash, enticing his fangs to come out once more. Piercing the pad of his thumb, he healed her throat with his blood.

“Ohhh, that tingles.” She touched her neck. “What did you just do?”

Lying down on his back, he held her waist to keep her straddling his hips. “Vamsyrian blood is healing. I usually heal the wound when I feed, so as not to leave a trace.”

Her eyes sparkled with speculation. “What else can Vamsyrian blood heal? How can you use it? Just as a salve or will it work to heal diseases?”

Broderick frowned. “Unfortunately, it does have its limitations. It cannot cure diseases, but it can be consumed by a mortal to heal internal damage caused by a disease. It can mend wounds, such as cuts, scrapes, burns and the like. If the blood is applied directly to a broken bone, it will mend, but an incision must be made first. It can also be the antidote to poisons or—”

“Poisons?” Monika’s mouth dropped open and she stared off into the distance, tapping her chin in thought. “Oh, my Gods.” She darted her eyes to Broderick and leaned forward, placing her hands on his chest. “It’s you. You are the final ingredient for the cure! Vamsyrian blood is the answer to the cure!”

She hopped off Broderick and scampered into the common room. When she returned, she had her mother’s book in hand and—much to his disappointment—was wearing his shirt. Flipping through the pages, she found an entry and trailed her finger over the strange script, which Broderick recognized through her memories as the Theban Alphabet. Her mind swirled with so much activity, Broderick had a very difficult time keeping it at bay.

He sat up and shook his head, amazed at how rapid this woman could ruminate ideas. “Perhaps you should put your necklace back on.”

She dragged her eyes from the book and regarded him with scrunched eyebrows. “What? Oh!” Monika threw her head back and laughed. “Just a moment.” She scuttled back into the common room, chortling. Putting her head through the chain of the necklace, she settled on the bed and continued her studies.

Broderick sighed and collapsed onto his back. “Thank you.”

She shook her head, grinning. “Here. My mother wrote, ‘Balance is the key.’ Her previous studies—”

“Remember, I know everything you know up until I fed from you.” Broderick rolled to his side and propped his head on his hand. “You had already discovered the four elements connected to the herbs.”

“Correct! What I just realized is Mama and I weren’t including the fifth element—spirit.” Monika slapped her hand onto the book. “Of course! I thought she needed four elements and four properties of the herbs, thereby creating a balance. But there are five elements —water, fire, earth, air and spirit. How could I forget? There are only four properties of the herbs—hex-breaking, exorcism, purification and protection. The Vamsyrian blood becomes the fifth property.”

“But how is the Vamsyrian blood both an element and a property? And why not just give the werewolf Vamsyrian blood? Why the herbs?”

“Even you said the blood couldn’t cure a disease, but it could cure the damage from the disease. I’m thinking it works the same way. Spirit is the missing element and the Vamsyrian blood is not only that, but transcends the spiritual and physical planes through healing. That is the final ingredient to obtain the balance my mother was looking for! The Vamsyrian blood is both an element and a property— spirit and healing—thereby reuniting the balance between the spiritual and physical plains. It’s no wonder she couldn’t find the spirit element. She probably would have needed to find a Spirit Witch, and they are hard to come by.”

Now that he’d fed from her, this entire world of magick users opened to him—Elemental Witches. Water, Fire, Earth, Air and Spirit, all wielding the powers of nature based on the sign under which they were born. Monika, an Aries and thus a fire sign, was a Fire Witch. Spirit Witches, however, were a rare breed. Monika and her family knew little about how they were manifested. Intriguing.

He grinned and shook his head. “You fascinate me, woman.”

Monika leaned over and kissed him. “Why is that, my darling?”

“I’ve never met a woman as learned as you. Now that I know your past, how important education is to Elementals, all is clear now. You are quite remarkable and so is the breed from which you come.”

She pecked him on the lips and rose to put the book on the table in the other room.

“Now that you have the cure, what are you going to do with it?”

A frown settled upon her face as she returned to the bed. “At this point, I still don’t know it will work. As much as I don’t want to, I’m afraid I have to test the cure. We have three werewolves on which to test it—Marcus, Brynner and my father.”

Rick nodded. “Marcus might be agreeable since he has been searching so long for the cure. But his history proves he will not be a willing subject unless we force him.”

“I wouldn’t mind leaving him cursed. Serves him right for everything he’s done—not to give him what he wants most. But I would rather risk his life than Brynner’s or my father’s.”

“Now that I know all you know, I am very confident this will work. We should try it on Brynner.”

“Broderick, he’s—”

“I know what he means to you, Monika, but Marcus is too dangerous to be around without me at your side.”

“We already know the ward works against him in human form, so I could use it to trap him. It worked well on you.” She jutted her chin forward and crossed her arms.

“Yes. But you’ll lose that if he’s cured.”

“I’ll just be sure to have a source of flame nearby as protection.”

Broderick sighed. “You and I both know you won’t use your powers.”

Monika’s smile faded and she nodded, bowing her head. “Fire gets out of control so quickly, but I’ve practiced for ten years. I have a better command of my emotions and the element.”

Broderick didn’t want her to face Marcus on her own, but he also had to admit two things: she was a formidable force who indeed had more control than he gave her credit for; and once she set her mind on doing something, she would see it through. He shook his head. “I’m not going to try and talk you out of this. You know how I feel. I don’t want you near him, but you have also proven you know how to take care of yourself, much to my relief.”

“Thank you.” Monika squeezed his hand and smiled. “I know I can do this, and if Oma is home soon and goes with me, he’ll have two powerful witches to contend with. She also knows how to control my fire, being an Air Witch.”

“Wind fuels a fire, Monika.”

“It can also blow it out.” She leaned over and puffed out the candle at the bedside.

Broderick narrowed his eyes and smirked. “You, lass, are hardly a candle flame.”

She closed the book and placed it on the floor, then stood and lifted his shirt from her curvaceous form, tossing it over the end of the bed. Crawling on her hands and knees, she rolled Broderick onto his back and straddled his hips. “Now where were we?” She seized his hardening shaft with her hot hands.

Broderick closed his eyes and sighed, all worry fading with every stroke. She shifted her weight, then engulfed his cock with her heat. He grunted and grabbed her hips. “Aye, Blossom. Right about there.”

She placed her palms on his chest and rocked Broderick to the heights of heaven.

* * * * *

His ears flattened against his head and hair bristling along his spine, Marcus hunkered down in the shadows…his lips curling back in a snarl. His body trembled as he peered through the partially opened shutters watching her succulent arse rise and fall on top of the Vamsyrian. Not so opposed to fucking a blood sucker, I see. He garnered all his strength to keep from tearing through the cottage and ripping both Monika and the Vamsyrian apart. After what he’d heard, however, he couldn’t. Not only did they have some kind of ward around the dwelling, but the Vamsyrian had the cure he needed. No wonder Katrina couldn’t find it. The cure was hidden within my enemy.

Very quietly, Marcus withdrew from the back garden and leapt over the tiny fence, then slinked off into the forest. Once far enough from the cottage, he ripped through any tree within his reach, shredding the trunks into splinters. Fucking bitch thinks I’m going to stick around and test her cure. Hunched over and panting, he snickered. Think again, my dear. And when I finally get the cure myself, you won’t have that damn ward to protect you. He’d tear the Vamsyrian to shreds to get the blood he needed then administer the cure himself. His cock hardened painfully as he imagined finally getting his hands on Monika and burying his shaft inside her.

Chapter Twelve

Brynner, Analise and Johanna stood before Monika in the common room of their farmhouse as she explained the situation. “Only after I’d translated the text did I learn the truth through my mother’s notes.”

Brynner frowned and crossed his arms. Analise and Johanna clutched each other’s hands, worry creasing their brows.

“When I’d put all the pieces together and figured out he was actually Marcus Sparenland, I confronted him.”

“If you told him you wouldn’t give him the cure, I could hardly blame you.” Brynner raked his fingers through his light-brown hair as he paced the length of the room. Analise twisted her smock while her eyes followed her husband.

“I actually didn’t have the complete cure. By happenchance, I learned the final ingredient last night. I was hoping to force him to take the cure this morning.” She sighed. “However, he wasn’t at The Red Stag when I went there just an hour ago.”

Brynner narrowed his eyes. “Do you believe he’s actually left?”

Monika shook her head. “No, I don’t, but I know he won’t be easy to find nor will he be a willing test subject. At least if I caught him in his room, I would have had him trapped.”

“By yourself?” Brynner harrumphed. “I know you’re brave, Monika, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”

“Brynner!” Analise scolded.

“All is well, Analise.” Monika cocked an eyebrow at Brynner. “Aren’t you forgetting?” She reached toward the hearth and called a small portion of the flames to her. The three of them hissed a collective gasp as fire engulfed Monika’s hand without burning her skin. She spread her fingers wide as she rotated her hand one way and then the other before she curled her hand into a fist and the flames died.

Brynner smiled. “I haven’t seen you do that in years.” He nodded. “Yes, I did forget.”

“I took precautions this morning by warning everyone that Marcus might try to infect more people. Everyone in the village assures me they’ll stay indoors until the cycle of the moon passes. But I can’t help the people in Vollstadt.”

“Can’t we build a trap for Marcus?” Johanna asked.

“Unfortunately, I think he may have learned about the cure and is waiting to see what I’ll do. We do have at least three more weeks before the next cycle, so if you want me to work with Broderick to trap him, I—”

“What makes you so confident this cure will work?” Brynner leaned forward, placing his palms on the table.

“I’m actually more confident about the properties of the final ingredient. If the cure doesn’t work, I’m at least certain you won’t die from it like the others did.”

“What is this final ingredient?”

Monika hesitated. “Broderick…has the answers. He has the final ingredient. I know you have kept my magick a secret all these years, and I do trust you to keep this one…but it’s not my secret to share.”

“I knew there was something unusual about that young man,” Johanna said. “No one faces a creature like that werewolf and lives to tell the tale.” She snorted. “The beastie was easy to scare off, indeed.”

Monika chuckled. “You are correct about that, but I will let Broderick be the one to tell you. I’ll return with him at sunset. In the meantime, please stay indoors.” She turned to Brynner. “I have no idea what Marcus will do to obtain this cure. He knows you need it, too, and that you’re one of my best friends. He has proven to take very drastic measures, which means he may come after any of you.”

Brynner frowned, but nodded.

“I have a ward that will keep Marcus from entering the house, but since you have been bitten, it will also work against you. If I put the protection up, you won’t be able to leave, but they can if you need anything.”

“Do what you have to. I want these two safe.”

Monika walked around the farmhouse, erecting an invisible barricade at every window and entrance of the home.

“That’s all?” Brynner frowned.

“You can try to go outside, but it won’t be pleasant.”

He grabbed the handle to the front door and swung it open. When nothing happened, he frowned and stepped forward. Before he crossed the threshold, he was thrown back onto his bottom with a grunt. His cheek glowed red. Analise rushed to his side.

Monika shook her head. “I did warn you.”

Brynner pursed his lips and touched his cheek, wincing. “Very amusing.”

Monika chortled. She opened her jar of burn ointment and smeared a dab of it into Analise’s palm. “For his cheek.” After resealing the jar, she dropped it back into her basket. “At sundown then.”

Johanna closed the door behind Monika as she exited.

Monika had a strong suspicion Marcus Sparenland was indeed somewhere close by. He most certainly didn’t seem the type to just give up and walk away because Monika snubbed her nose at him. She plodded down the path back to Kostbar. Until Broderick rose this evening, she would wait in her cottage.

When Monika approached her home, she halted in her tracks. The door was ajar. Cautiously, she crept toward her home, making a wide arc to peer inside at a safe distance. She frowned at the low burning fire in the hearth. Other than that, she saw no movement in the dim common room. Tiptoeing forward, she stole some flames from the hearth and raised her hand, ready for anything.

Mina stepped out of the bedroom and gasped, hurling a gust of wind at Monika, blowing out her flames and scattering many objects around the cottage. “For goodness sake, child! You nearly sent me to my grave!”

“Oma!” Monika dropped her basket and rushed forward, embracing her frail grandmother. “I’m so sorry. Do sit down.”

Mina returned the hug and chuckled. Shuffling to the chair Monika offered, she sat and placed her palm on her chest, then frowned. “What are you doing wielding fire so openly?”

Monika picked up her basket, erected the ward around the house and closed the door before she started righting all the debris blown around. However, she reconsidered since she would only be repeating the clean-up. Surely Oma would not be happy once Monika confessed the events of the week. “It’s a rather long tale. Let me make you some chamomile tea.”

Mina pursed her lips. “Chamomile, eh? This isn’t going to be good news, is it?”

“Well, some of it is, but you’ll need something to keep you calm.”

A soft breeze moved through the cottage. “Oh, bother.” Mina propped her elbow onto the table and rested her chin in her hand.

Monika grinned wide. “Perhaps I’ll add some lavender to the tea as well.”

Mina’s eyebrows rose into her hairline. “If I need that much calming, wait until you brew the tea before you unfurl your long tale.”

Once Monika set the strong, steaming cup before her grandmother, she joined her at the table. She finally admitted she’d been having dreams of being in love with a Scottish man and told Oma about Broderick and his wife Davina, including the fact that Davina was Monika’s previous life. She recounted most of the events that transpired since Mina left to care for Symon…except for the nights she spent in Broderick’s arms, of course. During Monika’s descriptions of those tense moments with Marcus, wind swirled in a corner or two, in spite of Mina’s calm façade. These were subtle signs of her grandmother’s stirring emotions and Monika’s brow creased with confusion. The larger the turbulence, the stronger her grandmother felt about a particular topic, but very little disturbance occurred as she continued recanting her experiences from the week. Perhaps the tea is doing more than I thought it would.

Monika told Mina almost everything up until yesterday—when she was able to bring the book home—before she sat and crossed her arms. “Go ahead. Do your worst.”

“What, child?” Mina sipped her tea.

“You took all this surprisingly well and only interrupted me for clarifying questions. Hardly any a-stirring. I assume you’re waiting until I’m finished before you let loose your whirlwind.”

Mina scowled and set her cup down. “I have had almost a week to mull over your little sex magick spell and everything you ignited while I was away.”

Monika blanched. She hadn’t mentioned that in her summary.

“Yes, the winds told me what you did and I’m a little disappointed in you.” Oma pursed her lips and waggled a scolding finger while dust stirred in the corners. “You are a Fire Witch, the most volatile magick of all the elements. You know this and yet you combined this combustible force with sex magick. And to make matters worse, you used an abandoned faery ring!”

Monika’s hair fluttered around her head and she gripped the edge of the table.

“Just because the fae no longer use the ring doesn’t mean their mischievous intentions aren’t left behind. I would wager it was the little dash of their influence which made your week so trying.”

The air settled around Monika.

“However, since you have received very unwanted attention from men as a result, I do hope you have learned your lesson.” She snorted and tipped her cup to her lips. “Much of what has happened is very good news and many of it I have been expecting for some time now. Although, I am upset that you put yourself in danger with this…Marcus.” A gust blew Monika’s basket from the table. “Excuse me.” Mina took another sip of tea.

Several little breezes rustled the corners of the room and Monika hunched her shoulders, ready for the storm. The drafts stirring dust in the rafters settled and sprinkles of dirt rained on the table while Mina held her hand over her cup.

Mina sighed. “I am thrilled the book is returned to us after all these years, but you put yourself in harm’s way, and for what? We still don’t have a cure, Treasure.”

“Actually, Oma…we do.”

“What do you mean?” Mina clasped her hands into her lap and leaned forward.

“The final ingredient is Vamsyrian blood.”

“How is that? I don’t understand.”

“Oma, it is the most wonderful miracle I have ever witnessed. The blood can be used as a liniment to heal a cut or wound instantly…or taken internally as an antidote.”

Mina’s mouth dropped open. “To heal the person from the wolfsbane!”

Monika grinned and nodded. “Precisely!”

A pleasant warming draft swirled around the cottage. “Oh, child! That is good news!” She held her palms to the sky and muttered a prayer of thanks.

Monika sank back into her chair, smiling and enjoying the glee on her grandmother’s face.

Mina cackled. “You little sprite. I knew you were up to something the morning I left.” She patted Monika’s hand. “I am glad all turned out well.”

“So how is Papa? How badly was he wounded?”

“Silver weapon, so you know the recovery is slower. And he had a very deep gash. I feared for his life.” Mina snorted. “Of course, you know your stubborn father. He won’t listen to me when I tell him to rest, and he insists he’s well.”

Rolling her eyes, Monika repressed a smile. Sounds like a certain Vamsyrian I know. She rose and set about straightening the cottage from the little wind gusts, while she and her grandmother caught up on the rest of the village happenings and the welfare of her father.

* * * * *

Irma held the fresh-baked loaf to her nose and breathed deep. “I love your bread, Edda.” She sighed. “Papa Josef and Hans do, too. They’ll love this. Thank you!” Slipping the loaf into her basket, she covered it with a cloth.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk with you?” Edda wiped her hands on her smock.

“No, no!” Irma hung the basket on her arm and waddled out of the blacksmith’s shop. “It’s a short walk there and back and gives me some quiet time.” She waved over her shoulder.

“Very well, dear.” Edda waved back. “Come by later if you need anything.”

Lumbering across the courtyard, Irma rubbed her belly as she veered onto the main path toward Vollstadt. The walk to her father-in-law’s dairy farm was pleasant, with a cool breeze soothing her face and the sun hanging low in the sky, casting a warm orange and yellow glow above the trees. After she dropped off supper, she would be back home just before sundown.

“I can smell that bread from here, fräulein.”

Irma turned around and smiled at the handsome stranger. “Freshly baked,” she bragged. “And it’s Frau, if you please. Frau Fischer.”

The dark-haired man with ice-blue eyes and Van Dyke beard sauntered toward her and bowed. “Forgive me. I’m Herr Carr.” He glanced around the area. “Nice evening for a walk. I’m headed to Vollstadt. Would you mind if I accompanied you?”

“I’m afraid it won’t be for very long. I’m bringing supper to my husband and father-in-law, just up here at the dairy farm.” She waddled along and squinted, concentrating. “Carr…Carr. Why is your name familiar?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“Oh! You must know Fräulein Konrads. She said she’s been writing herbal remedies for your father these last few days.” Irma grinned, glad she’d solved that little mystery.

“You’re correct.”

“Well, here we are!” Irma stopped and nodded to her companion. “Thank you for the company. A good day to you, sir.” She turned to walk up the path, but winced when he gripped her arm, stopping her.

“I’m afraid you’ll be accompanying me on an errand of utmost importance, my dear.” He pulled her against his imposing frame and she gasped at the sharp point at her side. “Shall we?”

Irma shrank under his frosty gaze and nodded, holding her belly and praying.

* * * * *

Monika refilled their tea cups and a knock rattled the front door. She and Mina locked gazes and Monika swallowed the sudden fear that surfaced. She pulled some fire from the hearth again, a glove of dancing flames ready to do her bidding. “Who is it?”

“’Tis I, Monika.”

Relief rushed through her body so quickly, her knees trembled. She shook off the fire and threw open the door, nearly jumping across the threshold and into Broderick’s arms. “Thank the Gods, it’s you.”

His chuckle rumbled against her breasts as he lifted her in his embrace. “Good evening, Blossom,” he whispered against her ear.

Monika mumbled the removal of the ward on the house and pulled Broderick inside by his hand. “Come! You must meet my grandmother.” She closed the door behind them and hugged his arm as she stood at his side. “Oma, this is Broderick MacDougal.”

Mina remained seated, her hands still clasped in her lap, a soft smile upon her lips…and her eyes glassy with tears. Broderick stepped forward and bent on one knee before her. Taking her wrinkled hand in his, he kissed it. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, madam.” His voice, a whisper.

She studied Broderick’s face before she patted his cheek. “You’re much more handsome in person than in the thoughts Malloren Rune shared with me so long ago.”

“Oma?” Monika maneuvered around Broderick to peer at his scowling face. “You met the prophetess Broderick told me about?”

“I knew that woman was somehow involved.” He stood and paced the room, raking his fingers through his hair. “That is how you learned the incantation to ward yourselves against Vamsyrians, is it not?”

Mina nodded. “She came to the old cottage the night Monika was born.”

Monika put her hands on her hips and repelled the sinking pressure in her stomach. “Oma. Why did you never tell me?”

“It wasn’t necessary, child. Malloren had said who and what she was and informed me she was gifted with the knowing. You were a special babe, she said, who must be guarded against Vamsyrians. Though there may be Vamsyrians who might try to hurt or take you from us, only one would come for you when you were of age and be your protector.”

“Did she feed from you?” Broderick crossed his arms, maintaining his black expression.

Mina shook her head. “She placed her palm on my brow and I saw your face in my mind’s eye. When I asked your name, she said a name didn’t matter, as many Vamsyrians used several names through the years.” Her grandmother regarded both Monika and Broderick, then cackled. “All has turned out exactly as Malloren predicted. Though she knew nothing of this Marcus or him returning with the book.” She pointed to Broderick. “Everything about you came to pass. I don’t understand why you are of such a foul disposition.”

Broderick harrumphed and leaned against the mantel. “She is known to be a bit of a manipulator, revealing only parts of the truth and leaving everything up for interpretation.”

“Malloren reveals just enough information to guide us, but not too much as to interfere with our free will and judgment.” Mina pointed a scolding finger at Broderick. “You, Vamsyrian, are one who doesn’t like to lose the reins and strives to control the journey every step of the way.” She cackled again. “Control is an illusion, young man. None of us are ever in control of our destiny, so you might as well relax and enjoy the scenery along the way. You are older than I am, so you should know this.”

Broderick cocked an eyebrow, then grumbled.

Monika gasped and grabbed Broderick’s hand. “Goodness, I completely forgot. I promised Brynner and Analise I’d return with you to discuss administering the cure.”

“I would like to accompany you.” Mina rose from the table and snatched her shawl from the back of the chair. “I want to see this cure and how Vamsyrian blood heals.”

Taking her mother’s book off the bookcase in the bedroom, Monika showed Mina the final recipe for the cure she’d scrawled on a separate piece of paper. Monika folded the scrap of parchment and placed it in the basket. Along with that were the ingredients she’d gathered this morning in preparation to force the cure on Marcus, including the vial with Broderick’s blood.

Broderick pulled his sword a few inches from the scabbard, then shoved it back into his the sheath. He nodded and escorted them out of the cottage. He scanned the surrounding fields and forest as soon as they arrived at the farmhouse.

Monika slipped her hand into his as her grandmother walked inside. “What is it, love?”

“I know he’s out there and I don’t want him interfering or learning about the cure.”

“I have a feeling he already knows about it.”

“All the same, I’d rather not risk it.” He frowned at Monika. “I may not be able to control my destiny,” he said referring to Mina’s previous comments…and the words were bitter on his tongue. “But I’m not going to keep us open to an attack. I’m going to erect some boundaries around the property to keep him away.”

Monika stood on her tiptoes and pulled him down for a kiss. “I’m in agreement with you. Be careful, though.”

“Always.” He tasted her lips once more and waited until she was inside before he ran around the farm, searching for any sign of the werewolf. When he found none, he held his palms in front of him and recited the incantation, imagining an invisible wall at least thirty feet wide and just as tall. Encircling the entire property, he repeated the ward until the farm was surrounded by protection. This allowed him to enclose the area without having to perform a cleanse from the center outward, which permitted both Broderick and Brynner to remain within.

“The protection is up,” he informed them all when he walked through the door. “If Sparenland is out there, he won’t get near enough to see what we’re doing.” While Monika and Mina were busy at the hearth, preparing the herbs for the cure, Broderick explained to Analise, Brynner and Johanna what a Vamsyrian was.

“So what does a Vamsyrian have to do with the cure?” Brynner crossed his arms.

“’Tis my blood that’s the final ingredient to the cure.” Broderick borrowed a knife from the chopping block and asked Monika for one of the cups they were using in their preparations. Taking these to the table, he made an incision across his forearm, allowing his blood to drip into the cup. The cut healed almost instantly, much to the amazement of everyone present. Broderick inclined his head toward Johanna. “I see that cut on your forehead is still healing.”

The older woman touched the gash she’d received when she fell, running from Marcus…the night Brynner was bit. She nodded.

Broderick dipped his finger into the blood. “May I?”

Johanna darted her eyes around the room. Mina shuffled up beside her and took her hand. “Go ahead, Johanna. I’m sure all is well.”

When Johanna nodded, Broderick dabbed his blood onto the scabbed laceration and she gasped. Brynner, Analise and Mina each murmured in fascination and Johanna touched her now-healed forehead. “It’s gone!”

“The wolfsbane you’ll be ingesting will be fatal to you,” Broderick explained to Brynner. “But it’s a necessary ingredient to finish purging the curse from your body. Once you’re purged of the curse, you’ll take the Vamsyrian blood as an antidote to the poison.”

Fear warbled off Brynner and his heartbeat galloped in Broderick’s ears from across the room.

“We won’t let you die, Brynner.”

The young man sighed and nodded. “I’d rather be dead than be a werewolf, so I don’t have anything to lose.”

The hearth crackled in the silence. Broderick placed his hand on Brynner’s shoulder. “You’re not going to die.”

Brynner nodded, but still didn’t look convinced.

Monika asked the men to move the table and chairs to the side of the room, giving them space. She and Mina came to the table, each carrying two pottery cups with liquid. “These are strong infusions of each herb.” Monika pointed to each cup as she explained. “Agrimony, to break the hex. Fumitory, to exorcise the curse. Wood betony, to purify your body. And wolfsbane, to protect you from the curse. All of these work together to purge the werewolf curse from your body and cure you. You must drink everything in each cup, in the order I just explained, and wait a few moments between drinking each infusion. Once you have consumed each cup, we wait until the curse has been completely broken and the balance has been restored.”

“How long will that take?” Brynner asked.

Monika shook her head. “I don’t know, but I know the experience won’t be pleasant.”

Brynner groaned. “Let’s get this over with.”

Analise hugged and kissed her husband, smiling through her tears. God, please let this work! Her thoughts drifted across the room to Broderick.

Monika waved everyone but Brynner back toward the hearth. “Please stand to this side of the room.”

Broderick mumbled the incantation and erected an invisible wall between them.

“Did you just put up that ward?” Brynner paled. “Why?”

Monika drew a deep breath. “According to my mother’s notes, you will have a rather…violent reaction to the wolfsbane.”

“The ward is just a precaution,” Broderick said.

Brynner nodded and paced the empty space a few times before he nodded again and stepped up to the table. He picked up the first cup and downed the contents.

“Wait just a few moments,” Monika tutored.

He fixed his eyes on Monika, anticipation in his eyes. When she nodded, he picked up the second cup, drinking down the infusion. On her next cue, he drank the third cup.

“Now the wolfsbane,” Monika whispered. “And do it quickly, Brynner. All of it.”

He grabbed the cup, looked at his wife and a weak grin twitched across his mouth. “I love you.”

She responded in kind, choking with tears. Her mother hugged her close.

Brynner threw his head back, downing the wolfsbane infusion. Just as quickly, he bent forward and dropped to his knees, coughing and crying out. “God!” Blood dripped from his mouth as his face contorted with a grimace and turned scarlet, veins pulsing against his neck and forehead.

Analise screamed and ran forward, but Broderick caught her around the waist. “Nay!”

Monika pulled Analise into her arms and shielded her from witnessing Brynner’s agony. She and Mina held Analise back while her husband continued to wail and grunt. Johanna covered her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.

With a roar, he lunged toward them, but bounced off the ward, cursing. “Give me the blood!” He pounded his fist against the barrier. “God, I can’t stand this!” he choked.

Broderick winced as the young man threw himself repeatedly into the invisible wall.

“Please help him!” Analise begged.

Eventually, Brynner slid to the floor, still leaning against the ward, convulsing and clutching his stomach. Monika ran forward and Broderick grabbed her hand. “Wait!”

She clutched the vial of Broderick’s blood in her hand and hugged her midsection, tears streaming down her face. “Take the ward down.”

“He still has the werewolf curse, Blossom. Look how the ward is still holding him up.”

She whimpered. “But what if he dies before the curse is purged?” Monika knelt just behind Brynner’s shivering and moaning form and laid her palm on his head.

Broderick closed his eyes. The lad’s heartbeat was rapid and erratic. His breathing, short, shallow gusts. What if Katrina’s choices of herbs were wrong? Broderick knelt beside Monika and waited.

“Broderick,” she pleaded.

Brynner’s heartbeat slowed. They were losing him. Broderick inhaled to recite the incantation to bring it down when the lad fell back into Monika’s lap. She gasped and popped the cork, dribbling the blood into the lad’s mouth. She closed his jaw and tipped his head back. “Swallow it!” She shook him. “Swallow it!”

Analise ran forward and dropped to her knees, embracing her husband and rocking and she cried against his neck. “Don’t leave me, Brynner! God, please don’t take him away from me!” She sobbed.

Brynner coughed and gagged, sitting up and gasping for air. Analise fell backward and the rest of them stood silently transfixed. On his hands and knees, he gulped deep breaths, his head hanging low. After several long moments of wheezing, he sat back on his heels and sighed. “God, that was horrible.”

Everyone erupted into cheers. Laughing through her tears, Analise put her arms around her husband. “Thank God!”

Monika fetched a wet cloth and handed it to Analise, who wiped his mouth and brow. Exhausted, he fell into his wife’s lap, panting.

Mina and Johanna hugged each other, crying and laughing. Broderick pulled Monika into his arms and she sobbed against his shoulder. Gods, I almost killed him!

He tilted her tear-stained face up to his. “You did it. You saved him and many others from living a half-life.”

She nodded, then threw her arms around him to sob some more.

Since Brynner was too weak and spent to move on his own, Broderick picked the lad up and carried him to his bed where Analise tended to him. Broderick gave another vial-full of his blood to Brynner, just in case the original dose wasn’t enough. Brynner admitted he felt even better after the second portion.

“Duly noted,” Broderick said, patting the young man on the shoulder. “Now get some rest, lad.”

After they put the common room to rights, Monika, Mina and Broderick sat with Johanna for a couple of hours, talking about random topics to ease the tension and lighten the mood. However, it was getting late, so they all said their goodbyes and Johanna thanked them several times on their way out the door.

It was a short walk back to the cottage and Mina dragged her feet as they walked through the door. “I am off to bed, children.”

“Good night, Oma.” Monika kissed her grandmother’s cheek.

Mina dipped her head in farewell toward Broderick. “I am glad to have finally met you.”

“And you, Frau—”

“Oh, do call me Mina,” she scoffed, waving away his formality.

Broderick chuckled. “As you wish. Good night, Mina.” He stepped outside into the cool night, waiting for Monika, who put the ward up around the house and closed the door behind her. They meandered to the bench by the well and sat.

Monika nestled under Broderick’s arm, resting her head upon his shoulder. “Thank you. The cure would not have been possible without you.”

“Nor you.” He tilted her chin to gaze into her sapphire eyes. “We work well together.”

She grinned. “That we do.” Her smile faded, though. “I just wish the cure wasn’t so painful. I’m overjoyed my father will finally be rid of this curse, but I do not relish the task ahead.”

“Agreed, but at least we know what to expect and can be more prepared.”

Monika covered her mouth as she yawned. “My goodness, excuse me.” She squinted at the treetops. “Is it near dawn already?”

“So it is.” He sighed. “You need rest, my dear. I have deprived you of sleep for two nights in a row and we had a very trying evening.” Broderick shifted Monika in his arms and cupped her heart-shaped face in his hands. “I look forward to having you in my own bed.” He tasted her smiling lips.

“Hrmmm…as do I.” Monika opened her mouth to Broderick, entwining her tongue with his in a slow, sensual dance.

He reluctantly pulled away from their kiss and stood, drawing her into his arms for a warm embrace. The heat of her body along the length of his, stirred his loins and he groaned. “I had better go now before I drag you to my ship and have my way with you.”

The hot breath of her laughter fluttered over his heart. “And what would be so wrong about that?”

“Don’t tempt me, woman.” He tipped her face up to his and claimed one more seeking kiss. “Good night, Blossom.”

“Good night, my darling.” Monika backed away, holding his hand for as long as possible, until her fingers slipped from his and she disappeared into her cottage.

Broderick smiled wistfully and strolled down the road toward Vollstadt. He had at least a half-hour before dawn, so he enjoyed a few minutes of the quiet evening on the path alone. However, a rustle in the brush interrupted his peace and Broderick drew his sword.

Yellow eyes glowed through the blackness ahead. Marcus. Broderick grinned. With the cure successfully tested, they no longer needed him. Broderick twirled his sword. “I’m going to wear your fucking pelt as a trophy.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Such foul language in front of a lady.” Marcus Sparenland stepped into the moonlight…in human form and using Irma as a shield with a knife at her belly.

Tears glistened on her face and she whimpered.

Broderick scowled, but reigned in his temper. “Are you hurt, Frau Fischer?”

“I—”

“I haven’t hurt her…yet.”

“What do you want, Sparenland?” He must be wearing the werewolf protection charm. Glancing at the pinkening sky and Marcus’s trembling hostage, Broderick didn’t have time to wait for the charm to drain and kill him.

“Your blood.” He tossed a corked jar.

Broderick snatched it out of the air. “Let her go first.”

“Fill the jar and set it on the ground. I’ll walk her to the jar and when I get it, I’ll let her go.”

Broderick seethed. “You harm that lady and I’ll make sure you suffer for a very long time.”

“Spare me your threats, Vamsyrian. Fill the jar.” He yanked Irma’s hair and put the knife to her throat. “Do it!”

Irma cried out and sobbed.

Broderick bent on one knee, uncorked the hand-sized potted jar and set it on the ground. Dragging the silver blade of his sword across his forearm, he hissed and allowed his blood to dribble into the container. The cut healed, albeit a little slower than a cut from a steel blade, but left a thin scar due to the silver. He had given Marcus just enough for the cure, but not enough to ease the damage of the poison…if he could manage to administer the cure alone. With any luck, Marcus would kill himself in the process.

After sheathing his sword, Broderick pressed the cork into the opening of the potted jar and stood, leaving it on the ground.

“Step back!” Marcus shuffled forward with Irma, who wept.

Broderick slowly retreated, waiting for Marcus to let down his guard…or for him to go back on his word.

Once he reached the jar, Marcus stooped to pick up the blood, releasing Irma.

Beckoning with his hand, Broderick silently encouraged Irma to step toward him. Marcus grunted, his yellow eyes glowing brighter. “You took too long, Vamsyrian. You should have been here sooner.” He gripped the sachet tied around his neck, breaking the leather cord and tossing the herbs aside.

Irma glanced over her shoulder as she shuffled toward Broderick, then whirled and screamed as Marcus crouched on his hands and knees while his spine arched and ripped through his linen shirt. Irma’s shrieks pierced the air as Marcus’s bones snapped and muscles contorted. He groaned and grunted as he transformed.

Broderick snagged Irma and pulled her into his arms, hiding her face in his chest. He bent forward to pick her up, but she clutched his arm and cried out, doubling over and hugging her belly.

“She’s over here! I found her!” Hans sprinted down the road toward them, a crowd of villagers behind him, and he slid over the gravel to her side, gawking at Marcus.

“Get her out of here!” Broderick commanded and drew his sword.

Irma wailed and dropped to her knees. Monika shoved through the stunned and gathering crowd. Her jaw unhinged and she shook her head.

Broderick waved her on. “I have this! Now go!”

Marcus howled. People scattered. And a cluster of villagers carried Irma as she screamed in labor, Monika holding her hand and glancing back at Broderick. Don’t you leave me! her mind screamed at him.

Sword poised, Broderick wheeled to confront the werewolf. Marcus reached for the jar of blood and Rick leapt forward, smashing it.

Marcus roared and stood his full height—at least seven feet tall. His massive arm back-handed Broderick, sending him airborne. His shoulder clipped a tree, spinning him, and the forest streaked left and right as Broderick hit several trunks before his face skidded across the ground. He knelt, spitting out decayed leaves and soil. Rick spotted his sword a few yards behind him and flung himself toward his weapon. Marcus launched at Broderick, who twirled and sliced with his blade. The beast howled and tumbled head over heels to the ground. A distorted cry poured from his canine mouth as he cradled his hand against his chest —bloodied and missing two fingers. Marcus transformed back into his human form, grimacing, naked and on his knees.

A wave of lethargy dragged through Broderick’s body and he staggered. Dawn! He sheathed his sword and bolted through the trees, dashing onto the main road toward Vollstadt, the path lit by the brightening sky, which warmed his face as he ran. The entrance to the village was just ahead. Another wave slowed his limbs and Broderick stumbled, careening forward and falling headlong into the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he dashed to the docks and leapt for the deck of his ship, sliding across the wood and tumbling down the stairs toward his cabin.

Andrew shouted, “Open the door!”

Blackness engulfed Broderick.

* * * * *

Marcus’s left hand trembled as he brought the mug to his face and gulped his fourth beer, tipping the cup until it emptied. He slammed the mug onto the table and clenched his jaw. Holding out his right hand, he rotated it one way, then the other, examining the bandages now browning from his blood and throbbing to the point of blurring his vision—his ring and pinky fingers half gone. He held his mug in the air with his left hand.

The blonde wench bent forward as she filled his cup. Marcus stared at the mounds of her breasts spilling over her bodice. “Would ye likes to see more of me, love?”

He nodded. “Let me get more beer in me first.”

“You just lets me know when you’re ready for Aggie, and I’ll come a-runnin’.” She glanced at his hand, sympathy softening her smile before she sashayed to the next table.

The young man Monika had kicked between the legs the other day appeared at the door, his eyes wide and searching. When they settled on a table to the right of Marcus, the young man ran forward and pulled up a chair beside the older man already seated. “Uncle! I just heard—”

“Jason, you should be watching the shop.” The uncle scowled and shoveled another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

Jason leaned forward and mumbled whatever news he’d heard. Marcus snorted and gulped another mouthful.

I had the fucking cure right in my hands. A spear of white-hot pain lanced through his hand and up his arm. He hissed. Marcus swallowed two more gulps of beer. He’d have to go off and find another Vamsyrian. But not before he got his hands on that bitch, Monika. He closed his eyes, recalling her naked body writhing in the clearing, her fingers stroking her kunte…the kunte he would bury himself in until he had his fill. Then I’ll kill her. He emptied his mug and motioned for Aggie to bring more.

“Save somethin’ for me, love.” She refilled his cup and winked before turning away.

Another man in his mid-thirties stomped across the room and joined Jason and his uncle. He reeked of horses and Marcus crinkled his nose.

“Father Meier is in custody now,” the horseman said.

“Why Father Meier?” the uncle asked.

The horseman shook his head. “If a good man like Wilhelm is under suspicion of heresy, there ain’t hope for any of us. I’m packing up now before the trials start.”

Aggie gasped. “Trials? Here in Vollstadt?”

Jason nodded. “And that’s not all. The inquisitor who’s come to the monastery is known for being ruthless.”

“They’re all ruthless, boy,” the uncle growled. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Once they get that bloodlust in ’em, they don’t stop. I’m with you, Cort. Jason, we need to finish this order today and pack up tonight.”

“Yes, Uncle, but why are they here? I thought Papa said the Roman Catholic Church had no say in this part of Germany.”

“True enough, boy, but the Protestants are no less enthusiastic about prosecuting witches.” The uncle pushed his unfinished stew to the center of the table. “The trials have kept to the south, but if what everyone is saying is true, that’s about to come to an end.” He stood and pulled Jason by the arm. “That’s why we’re leaving. We’ve got a lot of work to do before we can leave, though.”

The men vacated the table, leaving a wake of murmuring that rippled across the inn’s tavern…and left a smile on Marcus’s face.

* * * * *

“I’m sorry,” Abbot Cromer said, pursing his lips as his judgmental eyes assessed Marcus. “The Inquisitor isn’t available at the moment. If you discuss your complaint with me, I shall pass it on to him as soon as he has returned.”

“Sorry, Father, but I need to see the Inquisitor personally.” Marcus crossed his arms and leaned against the monastery gate.

“Then you will have to come back after nightfall, when he is expected to return from his errands.” Abbot Cromer frowned. “That should give you plenty of time to get cleaned up and sober. You reek of beer.” Pushing and shooing Marcus back as if he was some bothersome fly, he slammed the gate closed and wheeled around to march back into the monastery grounds.

Marcus cursed and strolled down the pathway that led back into Vollstadt. Coming back after dark meant wearing the werewolf warding charm and he loathed the way it made him sluggish and drained. But he couldn’t very well appear before the Inquisitor in werewolf form. He had taken a risk wearing it when he captured Irma, not knowing exactly what the charm would do to him, and he never imagined he’d be wearing it for the time he did. The Vamsyrian had tarried much longer than he anticipated. However, the result was learning the limitation of the herbs powers. He’d worn it for at least six hours before his extremities had become numb and his thoughts disoriented. Surely he could make his deal with the Inquisitor within that amount of time.

* * * * *

Angus scratched his quill across his journal, writing down the last bit of information he remembered from Helga Schuld and Peter Opfer’s blood. As other information surfaced from his recollections, he would continue to write them down, but he was pleased to have recorded the vast majority of their memories.

With that task finished, he had the attention to brood over his latest delay. Father Meier had only just arrived earlier that afternoon and was finally taken into custody—a full day and a half later than originally expected. Angus’s patience was wearing thin.

The clang of the knocker pounded the door of his church-like guest house.

“Enter!” Angus rose from the desk as his attending deacons escorted in a brooding man in mid-thirties with ice-blue eyes.

“I present to you Father Campbell,” Deacon Bernardo Pessina introduced with a wave of his hand. “Inquisitor to His Holiness, the Bishop of Rome, our Pope.” He ushered the man forward. “Marcus Sparenland, Father Campbell.”

“Thank you, Bernardo.” Angus crossed his arms. “How may I help you, Herr Sparenland?”

Marcus glanced left, then right, cocking an eyebrow and sizing up everyone in the room. He took a step forward and squinted at Angus. “You? You’re an inquisitor?”

Angus detected no thoughts. Another member of the Army of Light? “State your purpose. I lack the time and the patience.”

Marcus crossed his arms, mirroring Angus’s stance, and furrowed his brow. “There is a witch and a Vamsyrian in a nearby village. You do know what a Vamsyrian is, don’t you Father Campbell?”

Angus chuckled. “It’s my job to know the creatures Satan creates. Of course I do.”

“Of course you do.” Marcus sneered. “I have information which might interest you.”

“Do you, now?” Angus grinned. “And I suppose you are doing your civic duty by coming here?” He held up his hand when Marcus opened his mouth to speak. “Before you give your confession and share all the details, I’d like to bless you.”

The deacons stepped forward, guiding Marcus with gentle hands to his elbows, but Marcus glared and jerked out of their touch.

“They won’t harm you. Just kneel before me.”

Marcus pursed his lips, obviously displeased with the request, but grumbled and dropped to one knee. He never took his eyes from Angus, though.

Angus chuckled. Amusing lad. He laid his hand on the crown of Marcus’s head, closed his eyes and raised his other palm to the heavens. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritūs Sancti. Give this man the clarity of spirit and heart to confess the truth, or may he suffer for his iniquities, for the wages of sin is death.” Angus willed Marcus to lose consciousness…but nothing happened. He gazed down at Marcus, who peered back at Angus with a knowing grin. Bernardo and Stefano frowned and glanced at each other, then turned their questioning eyes to Angus.

Marcus cocked an eyebrow and quirked a lopsided grin. “Not the response you expected, Father?”

Angus beamed, feigning great pleasure. “You must be quite strong in the Lord, my friend.”

Marcus chuckled.

The door swung open and Abbot Cromer poked his head into the room. “Father Angus, Father Wilhelm is ready whenever you are.”

“As you can see, dear Abbot, I have a guest.”

Abbot Cromer surveyed the people in the room and blanched. “Yes, sir. I apologize for interrupting.”

“I’ll see to Father Wilhelm once I’m done here.”

Abbot Cromer bowed and ducked out, closing the door behind him.

“Father Angus Campbell, is it?” Marcus stood and clasped his hands in front of him. “One doesn’t encounter very many Angus Campbells in Germany. How interesting. You wouldn’t happen to know a Vamsyrian named Broderick MacDougal…would you? A certain enemy of yours?” His steel blue gaze and self-satisfied smile locked on Angus.

Intriguing. “Yes, I do. As an Inquisitor of the Church, I have made many enemies of Satan’s minions. That is no secret.”

Marcus leaned forward. “Perhaps you would prefer we continue this conversation in private.”

Angus smiled. “I’ll allow it.” He waved a dismissive hand to his deacons and chuckled. “Give us a few moments, if you please. I’ll summon you when we’re ready for his confession.”

Bernardo and Stefano bowed and strolled from the room. Angus walked behind them to close the door and pulled a kerchief from his trouser pocket. Once the door was shut, Angus grabbed Marcus by the throat in a flash and slammed him against the wall, shoving the kerchief into the stunned man’s mouth. Marcus struggled against Angus’s grip and Angus squeezed and pushed Marcus up the wall, his feet dangling a foot or so above the floor. “You will answer my questions with a simple nod or a shake of your head. Do you understand?”

Marcus grunted and panted, thrashing to break free.

Angus sighed and slammed his captive’s head against the wall. “Do. You. Understand?”

Marcus groaned and nodded, his eyes searching for purchase.

“Good. Are you a member of the Army of Light?”

Blinking his eyes, Marcus struggled for clarity and Angus waited until his gaze was sharp and knowing.

“I repeat, are you a member of the Army of Light?”

His brow creased and he shook his head.

Angus had seen enough confessions to know whether or not someone lied. This man had no idea who the Tzava Ha’or was. “Do you know the Hebrew incantation?”

Confusion reigned on this man’s face and, again, he shook his head.

He removed the kerchief from Marcus’s mouth. “What do you really want?” Angus sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “And what is that smell?”

Marcus grinned and rasped through the hold on his throat, “A wolf in sheep’s clothing, Vamsyrian?”

Angus squeezed and Marcus grunted, glaring. “Answer the question. What do you really want?”

Marcus chuckled in spite of the hold Angus had on his throat. “The blood of a Vamsyrian,” he rasped. “I know it has healing properties. I came here to bargain for Broderick’s, but perhaps you’ll give me yours and I won’t tell the priests about your little secret.”

Angus laughed. “I’ll just snap your neck and tell them you were struck down by God. They’ll believe me.” He sniffed the air again, grimacing. “What is that odor?” A lump under Marcus’s shirt caught his eye and he yanked the leather cord around his neck to pull out a small sachet. A charm to block thoughts, perhaps? It may have also prevented Angus from persuading Marcus to lose consciousness. “Perhaps I should take this offending little bundle and toss it into the hearth.”

“I cannot be held responsible for my actions, if you remove it.” Marcus unfurled a devious grin.

Oh, this lad is interesting! “Is that so?” He grinned and reassessed everything that happened since Marcus arrived. Angus threw his head back and laughed, in spite of the danger he’d almost put himself in by threatening to remove the sachet. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you? You knew I was a Vamsyrian the moment you walked through my door.”

Marcus nodded. Angus dropped the werewolf, who coughed and rubbed his throat, then tossed his kerchief into the hearth.

“I know it will take you a few agonizing moments to transform into a werewolf, so don’t think to threaten me with your venomous bite. You’ll be dead before you can defend yourself.” Angus strolled to the chair at his desk and sat, crossing his ankle over his knee. “The only reason you’re alive is because I find you every entertaining. I will allow you to speak. But if you don’t please me…” He grinned.

Marcus frowned while still rubbing his throat.

“So…what can I do for you? Or more importantly, what can you do for me? I have something you want. Let’s barter.”

“I just need Vamsyrian blood. His or yours. I care not.”

“Werewolves have their own regenerative abilities, inferior though they are. Why do you want Vamsyrian blood?”

“It’s the final ingredient for a cure.”

“A cure for the werewolf curse?” His eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

“I paid a witch to discover it.”

“Ah, I see.” Angus shrugged. “I don’t see you offering anything yet. That’s how we barter. You give me what I want and I give you what you want.”

“I will tell you where Broderick’s lair is.” Marcus smirked.

“Broderick’s lair is on his ship. What else do you have?”

Marcus frowned and crossed his arms.

Angus shook his head at the pathetic werewolf. “If you know Broderick is my enemy and I’m this close to him, why would you think I didn’t already know this information? In fact.” Angus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Why would you come to me for Broderick’s blood? You know the location of his lair. Waltz in there and get it yourself. Surely his feeble little crew is no match for a ferocious man such as yourself?” Angus chuckled.

Marcus pursed his lips and paced the room. “He knows a very effective ward that acts like an invisible wall. He and his witch have both used it against me.”

Angus tilted his head with interest. “Witch?”

“Yes, the witch I paid to find the cure. The bitch he’s fucking.” Marcus near spat the words from his mouth.

“Ah. This is about a woman.” He laughed and leaned back, crossing his arms. “I supposed that’s how you obtained your little charm that keeps you from transforming?” He shrugged. “The charm obviously works. Why would you turn her in? Couldn’t toss her skirts, could you? Or did Broderick finally break his celibacy vows and fuck her before you could?”

“The charm is only temporary.”

“Sorry to hear that, but you’re beginning to bore me.”

“I have proof she’s a witch.” Marcus grinned.

Angus sighed. “Pray tell, what proof is that outside of a little bag of leaves?”

“She has a book of spells in the Witch’s Alphabet.”

Angus rolled his eyes heavenward. “This is all very interesting, but why should I care? Broderick is the one I’m after and I can get him myself.”

“If you get her, you’ll have an advantage over Broderick.”

“Are all werewolves as thick as you are? Or are you just unique?” Angus rose and threw his hand out before him, casting the incantation and pinning Marcus against the wall. Nice to know this works against werewolves. He spoke over the werewolf’s grunts and groans of agony. “We’re done talking. You have nothing of interest to me.”

“He will come for her,” he rasped between moans. “I swear it.”

Angus shook his head and pursed his lips, irritated with the idiot. “Not only can I get Broderick MacDougal myself, you know nothing about him or me if you think I’m stupid enough to believe he’d come for this witch. There’s only one woman he would risk his neck for and she’s been dead for eight decades.”

“They both believe Monika is Davina reborn!”

Angus dropped the ward and Marcus fell to the stone floor, still writhing in pain. The prophecy. The members of the Army of Light he’d fed from had thought the line of the prophecy had been broken once Davina died. He scoffed. Even if the prophecy wasn’t true, as long as Broderick believed this witch was Davina, he did indeed have that added element of torture for his own gratification.

He grinned and gazed down at Marcus. “That, my boy, is enough to keep my interest. I want to know where this girl is. Once I have them in custody, you can have all the Vamsyrian blood you want.”

“And I want the girl.” Marcus staggered to his feet, panting.

Angus chortled. “You’re accusing her of being a witch. What makes you think she’ll have you? In fact, she’ll probably use your entrails for a spell.”

Marcus shook his head. “I don’t want to marry the bitch. I just want to fuck her. She owes me and I’m taking it out of her arse.”

Angus cocked a critical brow. “You had ample opportunity to get your hands on her and it appears you wasted your chance.” He turned his back to the werewolf and strolled to the door. “If there’s anything left of her after the interrogation, I’ll see what I can do.”

“You have the ability to give me what I want. What is the girl to you?”

Angus opened the door a few inches and glared over his shoulder. “You should be worried about getting your cure. Mind me or you won’t even get that.” Pulling the door wider, he waved to his deacons, who stood across the courtyard. “Thank you for an entertaining evening.”

His deacons filed into the room and bowed.

“Bernardo, please summon the abbot and have Father Wilhelm brought here immediately.”

“Certamente,” Deacon Pessina confirmed and exited.

“Stefano.” Angus put his arm around his deacon’s shoulder and walked both him and Marcus outside. “We have a witch and a Vamsyrian to seize on the morrow. Marcus Sparenland knows where both of them can be found. Please get a full written confession from him. And once we know the location of the Vamsyrian, I will give you explicit instructions on how to collect him. I want him alive.” Angus shook Marcus’s hand and smiled. “Thank you for being so cooperative, Herr Sparenland. You will be rewarded in heaven.”

Marcus smirked and followed after Deacon Rossi, who already started marching across the courtyard. Deacon Pessina, with Abbot Cromer and Father Wilhelm Meier, passed them along the way. Inclining his head respectfully, Angus invited the three of them into the guest house. Once he closed the door behind him, he nodded to Bernardo, who guided Abbot Cromer to the side of the room, leaving Father Wilhelm in the center.

“I present to you Father Campbell,” Bernardo repeated for the sake of their new guest. “Inquisitor to His Holiness, the Bishop of Rome, our Pope.”

Angus circled the priest, observing his fidgeting fingers, rapid breathing and heartbeat, shifting eyes and brow creased with worry. He tried to read his thoughts. As a member of the Army of Light, Father Wilhelm would be protected by the incantation, which was routinely said over food and drink consumed by the members. As such, Angus would be unable to read his thoughts. This also made his blood volatile to any Vamsyrian—something Angus learned the hard way.

He stood before the priest with his hands behind his back. “For the sake of my witnessing deacon, you are Father Wilhelm Meier?”

Meier nodded.

“Do you know why you have been brought to an inquisitor?”

“No, Father. I do not.” Wilhelm trembled. “I have never listened to any of the Protestant ideals and have been a faithful man of the Roman Catholic Church for—”

“You are not a faithful man of the Church.” Angus pointed an accusing finger in the priest’s face. “You are a heretic!”

“Why? I have served God faithfully, living within this monastery since I was a boy!”

Angus strolled to Abbot Cromer’s side. “No, Father Wilhelm. You are a member of the Tzava Ha’or.”

Wilhelm snapped his gaze to Angus and the blood drained from his face. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” His voice lacked conviction.

He inclined toward his host. “Did you see that, Abbot Cromer?”

Cromer nodded, his eyes glassing with tears, anger creasing his brow.

“What is the zabba ha, zabba ha,” Meier stammered.

Angus chuckled and pivoted on his heel to regard Stefano. “What is the Tzava Ha’or, my faithful servant?”

“The Army of Light,” Stefano responded with his thick Italian accent, his face devoid of emotion.

Grinning, Angus strolled to stand before Father Wilhelm. “That is correct. Now…the paled expression on your face betrays you. You know exactly who and what the Army of Light is. Tell me where your other members are, or you will burn as a heretic. Where would you like to begin?”

Father Meier swallowed, closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he leveled them on Angus. “Since I know nothing of this Army of Light, Father, where would you like me to begin?”

Angus nodded. “So it’s torture over truth.” He sighed. “Very disappointing. I had hoped you would be honest with me. Are you sure you don’t know anything about them?”

Tears welled in Wilhelm’s eyes and Angus almost sympathized with the young man. “No, Father,” he responded with a crackling voice. “I don’t know about them.”

“That’s a shame. Unfortunately, Peter and Helga said the same thing…right up until their agonizing deaths, screaming as they were burned alive.”

Meier bowed his head and sobbed.

Angus shook his head. “It breaks the heart, Father Wilhelm.” He cleared his throat from the unexpected sorrow trying to choke his words. Must be residual feelings from Peter and Helga. “Why would you risk your life for this heretical organization?” Angus nodded to Stefano, who moved to stand behind Father Meier and encouraged him to kneel. “Before we begin the process, I want to bless you.”

“Please, Father Campbell!” Wilhelm clutched Angus’s doublet. “I have been a faithful servant of the church since I was a boy! I swear to you, I have only served the interests of God.”

Angus placed his hand on Wilhelm’s head. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritūs Sancti. Give this man the clarity of spirit and heart to confess the truth, or may he suffer for his iniquities, for the wages of sin is death.” Using the persuasion of his Vamsyrian abilities, he willed the priest into unconsciousness.

Father Meier collapsed into the waiting arms of Stefano, who eased the priest onto his side on the stone floor. Angus strolled to his bed, grabbing a pillow and coverlet, and handed them to his deacon. Stefano slipped the pillow under Wilhelm’s head and shrouded his body with the coverlet.

“Thank you.” Angus inclined his head and turned to his desk. “As usual, I will summon you when he has awakened.”

“Sì, padre.” Stefano exited.

Abbot Cromer stood with his mouth open, glancing from Angus to Wilhelm, lying prone. “W-what just happened? How did you—?”

“I did nothing, Father.” Angus sat and opened his journal as if the man passing out was a casual occurrence. “You have witnessed the power of God, Abbot.” He pretended to ignore the confounded clergy while he scribbled some notes in his journal. However, his Vamsyrian abilities were listening very carefully to the abbot’s thoughts.

How is that even possible? In all my years, I had never witnessed such a miraculous display of God’s power. And this…this…youth summoned it like he calls for his attending deacons. To render a man unconscious! The abbot paced. I…why do I not have such access to God? I have served you, Lord, devoted my life to you for twice as many years as this arrogant young priest has even been—

Angus chuckled and turned his body in his chair to lean back and regard the abbot. “Such impure thoughts for such a pious man. You have it all wrong, Georg. How much time you’ve devoted your life to and what you’ve done for God have nothing to do with gaining access to him. Deeds don’t get you into heaven, so why would they be the method by which you obtain its power?”

Abbot Cromer paled and swallowed.

“Such sinful thoughts are what lead you down the same arrogant path Father Meier has taken, to join an elite group of people who think they are above the law of the Church, God’s chosen vessel for his salvation.” He waggled a finger at Cromer. “I suggest you change your attitude before you end up on the stake, right beside Father Wilhelm.”

“Of course, Inquisitor Campbell.” Abbot Cromer rushed to kneel before Angus, kissing his hand.

“No need for that, Georg. That will be all for now. Thank you.”

The abbot bowed his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Angus finished jotting down the notes he began, taking the opportunity to let some time pass. Once he was confident he wouldn’t be disturbed, he crossed the room and bolted the door, then marched to his chest at the foot of his bed. Prying back the lid, he extracted a polished wooden box, containing his protective gloves and ceremonial dagger, a corked pottery jar and a fresh kerchief, which he pocketed. He carried these to the desk, shoving his journal and writing instruments to one side. From within the polished box, he picked up the reddish-brown leather gloves—ensuring to grab them by the folded, fleece cuff—and slipped them onto his hands. Next, he grabbed the dagger and the jar and brought them to Father Meier, where he knelt at his back.

“You, my friend, are the final member I need.” Angus threw the blanket off Wilhelm’s shoulder. Uncorking the jar, he positioned the lip at the back of the priest’s neck and made an incision with the dagger. Wilhelm stirred while his blood oozed into the container and Angus set the dagger aside as the jar filled. Taking the fresh kerchief from his pocket, he waited until he had enough blood then pressed the kerchief to the cut, stopping the flow. The scent of blood tempted The Hunger to surface and his fangs extended. Angus pierced his thumb and shoved it into the priest’s mouth, forcing the Vamsyrian blood down his throat. Wilhelm stirred again, swallowing with a mild grimace, then stilled.

Angus waited.

The nonsensical ramblings of the priest’s dreams and unconscious thoughts grew loud enough for him to hear.

Angus smiled.

Corking the blessed blood in the jar, Angus set it aside, then pierced his thumb again to heal the incision on Wilhelm’s neck. Dabbing the priest’s skin, he wiped away any sign of blood and tossed the kerchief into the hearth. However, he didn’t want to take any chance some of the blessed blood tainted Wilhelm’s skin, so Angus pushed the priest’s sleeve up his arm to drink from his wrist. Father Meier moaned and Angus closed his eyes, enjoying the sweet flavor of blood…and gleaning more information on the inner workings of the Army of Light.

Wilhelm wasn’t lying. He had been serving the Church and was faithful to God in all he did since he was an orphan seeking refuge behind these walls. But he did lie about his involvement with the Army of Light, which he joined fifteen years ago. And, as luck would have it, Wilhelm served in the Archives for three years! What a rare find, indeed. Of the eighteen members Angus had fed from and harvested their blessed blood, only one other member had worked in this vast library network of the Tzava Ha’or.

Father Opfer and Sister Schuld had both heard rumors about the prophetic line ending since the last Seer had been barren or at least never bore a successor. Some speculated the Prophetess did bear a child and was in hiding to protect her. However, as the decades passed with no sign of a new Keeper of Secrets, the Army of Light lost hope in keeping track of the prophecy. Only through her visions would the Tzava Ha’or uncover the milestones of the prophecy.

But Father Meier had actually met the Prophetess. Angus pulled away from Wilhelm’s wrist, healed the gash in his skin and wiped it clean. He paced, the smile on his face growing with each step. A Vamsyrian? He laughed. The Prophetess is a Vamsyrian and was the second sign! How ironic. She’d told Wilhelm she was the custodian of the prophecy and immortality would give her the ability to be so.

“So, Prophetess. You were the one who thought you could protect Broderick from me by giving him the incantation. Your manipulation knows no bounds.” Angus picked up the pottery jar of blessed blood and placed it on his desk. Reaching into the chest at the foot of the bed, he pulled out the lambskin, hooded cloak he’d made, dyed the same reddish-brown as his gloves and matching lambskin leather boots…save for the last, bottom corner of the floor-length garment, where the leather was still raw and unblemished. Combining sheep’s oil with Father Meier’s blessed blood, he would use it to finally finish the protective garment. “Now, brother, you can no longer hide behind the protection of the Tzava Ha’or.” Once and for all, Angus’s soul would be at peace.

Chapter Fourteen

Weak from the herbs, Marcus staggered into the woods and away from the monastery. Once out of sight and hidden by the trees, Marcus finally ripped the sachet from his neck and picked a tree unique enough for him to recognize. He hung the sachet on a twig protruding from the trunk so he could collect the herbs during the day. Though he loathed the transformation, he at least would feel his strength return. Stepping away from the power of the herbs, he dropped to his knees, grunting and groaning through the agonizing process. His consolation, though, was he’d finally have the cure and not have to endure this painful transition every cycle.

He charged through the woods, hungry for a kill.

Skirting the edge of Vollstadt, he spied the young man Jason walking alone down the road. “I’m glad we’re leaving anyway. I won’t have to see Monika with her lover.” He mumbled something Marcus couldn’t understand. “Betraying bitch! Selfish bitch only thinking of herself. Barrel maker not good enough for you, eh?” He picked up a rock and hurled it into the forest.

Marcus grinned. This poor sod had walked right into his doom. Marcus had the text from Katrina’s book, which proved Monika’s father was a werewolf. Looks like you’ll not only be convicted as a witch, my dear, but you’ll command the hounds of hell as well. Marcus snickered and charged. Jason’s gut-wrenching screams echoed over the sleeping village of Vollstadt.

* * * * *

Monika staggered to the door, wiping the sleep from her eyes, and squinted at the bright light. “Just a moment!” she snapped at the frantic pounding on the door. She threw back the bolt and the door burst open. Edda pushed Monika back and slammed the door shut. “The village of Vollstadt is in hysterics! A young man named Jason Kiefer was found torn to pieces at the edge of town and they’re saying you cursed him.”

“What?” That most certainly woke her out of her stupor. “Why me?”

“Someone said something about you kicking him and saying you’d do worse if he didn’t leave you alone.”

Monika moaned and covered her face. “The man was obsessive and forced me against a wall. I had to kick him, but I—”

“No one will care! The inquisition is here, Monika.”

She gasped. “Where is Oma?”

“She was still at Irma’s, sitting with her and the baby. There’s a mob with the Roman Catholic Church headed this way. Helmut is taking you and Mina to Nordenham now to be with your father. Let’s go!”

Monika grabbed her shawl, bodice and skirt, and slipped on her leather shoes. Edda peered out the door. Nodding, she waved for Monika to follow her and they ran across the courtyard to the blacksmith shop.

“Monika!” Mina whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Come child, we must go.”

Angry shouts echoed around the platz and Monika whirled toward the crowd of people flooding in from the northeast path, a caged wagon rumbling behind them.

“Edda, get her out of here!” Monika hissed, throwing her clothes at her friend, and marched toward her cottage.

Otto the innkeeper was leading the pack. “That’s her!”

“Back away, if you please!” shouted a voice with a strong Italian accent. The shouts of the crowd dissipated as two men—whom she guessed were priests—dressed in long black cassocks pushed forward. One held up his hands toward the gathered mob. “This will be done in an orderly fashion.”

“We already know she’s guilty!” Otto yelled and spit at Monika’s feet.

Monika glared.

“That is not for you to decide, but your testimony will be considered during the trail.” He swiveled around and approached Monika, then read from a decorative parchment scroll he held in his hands. “By order of the Bishop of Rome and the authority of the Roman Catholic Church, Monika Konrads, you are hereby charged with witchcraft and heresy. You are to be taken into custody and given a fair trial before the Inquisition.”

Monika’s throat tightened, but she refused to let her tears fall and clenched her fists at her sides. The crowd behind the priests roared, many raising their fists in support. Helmut, Hans and a few of the other residents of Kostbar rushed forward, protesting.

“You will be charged with harboring a witch if you do not cease this riotous behavior!” The scroll reader nodded, seemingly satisfied when her friends retreated.

Monika shook her head and offered a reassuring smile to her neighbors, so willing to champion her.

“Where is your cottage?” the other black-robed priest asked Monika.

Resisting was futile and would only make matters worse. She pointed to her dwelling.

He nodded and ushered three monks in brown, hooded robes into her cottage along with the scroll-reader. After a few moments, the monks emerged, their arms loaded with herbal jars, the house broom and her mother’s book.

“If you wish to help Fräulein Konrads,” the scroll-bearer said to her neighbors. “You will have the chance to bear witness at her trial. That is all.” He waved his hand, beckoning the guards standing beside the caged wagon. One of the tall men in chainmail grasped her arm and guided her toward her prison on wheels. The other inserted a large iron key into the lock and opened the barred door, then held his hand out to assist her.

A member of the mob held a torch aloft above the crowd. She just needed to call the flames to do her bidding. Monika twisted around to survey the people hungry to see her burn. Although some may be afraid of what happened to Jason and that they may be next, Otto certainly must be enjoying this from a vengeance standpoint, his self-satisfied grimace a testimony to his black heart. Then she regarded the people she’d known all her life standing in the platz, huddling with each other, tears staining their cheeks or fists clenched in anger or mouths twisted with fear.

She would risk all their lives if she used magick to save herself.

Monika nodded to the guards, her lips in a tight smile of resignation. They bound her wrists with rope. Once her hands were bound, she was defenseless. Her chance at wielding magick had passed. She stepped up into the cage with their assistance.

Hugging her knees to her chest at the center of the cage, she finally let the tears fall as the wagon lumbered away from her home and the people she loved. She dropped her forehead to her knees, praying Broderick would be safe. He could rescue her and not risk innocent people…if they hadn’t already taken him from his ship. But he was most vulnerable during the day. “Please be safe, my love.”

* * * * *

Broderick inched his way down the long, dark corridor, orange light flickering on the stone wall at the far end. His wrists burned. His legs dragged as if he trudged through mud. “Blossom! Where are you?”

“Broderick!”

He clawed to reach the end of the passage. Slightly ajar, a rough-hewn wooden door with a small barred window fluttered with passing shadows—a dangling chain, an arm wielding a whip.

“Davina!”

“Confess to the crime of witchcraft!” a voice commanded, thick with an Italian accent.

“The rack!” another voice cried.

Clutching the doorway, Broderick pulled himself through the entrance to the dungeon. Chains rattled and clanked as a black-robed priest turned a massive, spoke wheel. Davina lie prone on an iron table and grimaced as the shackles on her ankles and wrists tugged at her limbs.

“We have the evidence of your crimes,” another priest robed in black announced, and picked up Katrina’s book, hoisting it over his head.

Davina screamed at the chains pulled tighter, then slumped into unconsciousness. The priests unlocked her shackles and bound her hands with rope. Broderick strained against his own shackles, searing his wrists. Her body fell forward and they caught her before she hit the stone floor. One of the priests grabbed a handful of her dark hair and yanked her head up, revealing Monika’s tear-stained face before they dragged her through another door.

“Monika!”

Broderick opened his eyes, but was still surrounded in darkness. His wrists were on fire and the pungent odor of burning flesh assailed his nostrils. Weakness governed his limbs, weighted with lethargy as if filled with lead, and he knelt against the hard, unforgiving floor. Swinging his head from side to side, his eyes searched the darkness and discovered a square spot of light. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed light shining on a small tin cup perched on a stool in the corner next to a bucket. He shook his head and squinted back at the square of light. A small barred window in a door? He yanked his arms and chains rattled. Based on the images in his dream, he and Monika were most likely imprisoned for witchcraft. He gritted his teeth and jerked against his bonds, but to no avail. The draining of his immortal powers and the burning on his flesh gave every indication his shackles were most likely blessed with the incantation. But by whom? Since Marcus didn’t get what he wanted, Broderick assumed the werewolf may be behind their capture, but Marcus didn’t know the ward. Who was he working with?

The clanging of keys rattling in the lock jarred him from speculation. The black-robed priests Broderick recognized from his dream filed into the room, the first one carrying a torch, which he dropped into the iron bracket on the wall. Marcus Sparenland followed, a triumphant grin on his bearded face, confirming Broderick’s suspicions. He was obviously taking advantage of the werewolf ward from Katrina’s book. Marcus stood on the opposite wall of the priests. In his weakened state, Broderick wasn’t surprised when his fangs extended. He glared at the clergy and they recoiled, most likely seeing the silver core glowing in his eyes.

“Oh, don’t fear this one, my faithful servants. I know how to handle him.”

It can’t be!

“At last.” A tall, cloaked figure sauntered forward, the sweet scent of blood wafting off him like perfume. Angus Campbell pushed back the hood of his reddish-brown cloak and grinned. “I have waited a very long time for this moment.”

Broderick mumbled the incantation, erecting a protective barrier—floor to ceiling and wall to wall, a few feet in front of him to keep his enemy at bay.

Angus’s mocking laughter stoked Broderick’s anger. “Did you hear that, gentlemen? The Vamsyrian is using magic against us. Please stand back. I don’t want you to be harmed.”

Marcus and the priests retreated a few feet, while Angus stepped forward. He stretched his hand in front of him toward the barrier. His fingertips hissed when they pressed against the invisible wall.

Angus yanked his hand back, shaking off the burn. “You see that? It seems he’s protecting himself with some kind of demonic wall.”

His servants gasped and nodded. Marcus smirked.

Broderick snorted. “And how is it a Vamsyrian like yourself, Angus, is in such a position to work with the Church?”

The room echoed with chortles. “You see how predictable he is?” Angus shared his amusement with the priests and Marcus before glaring at Broderick. “As I told you, he would try to say I was one of his kind.” He waved his hand toward the barrier. “Marcus, would you please come forward and try to put your hand through the wall? Only if you wish to prove how wrong MacDougal is, of course.”

The werewolf grinned. “My pleasure.” Reaching his hand out in a similar manner as Angus, Marcus’s fingertips made contact and sizzled against the barrier. He also shook his hands in a demonstration of pain.

The priests nodded and frowned. Broderick shook his head.

“Bring in the witch,” Angus commanded.

One of the priests nodded and left the chamber. The rattling of keys and clanking of a lock echoed from the hall. The priest returned, followed by two guards in chainmail dragging Monika’s lethargic and moaning form between them. Her wrists were bound by rope in front of her and Broderick sighed, knowing she was powerless to wield her magick. She was clothed in a dirty woolen, floor-length tunic. Lifting her head, she peered from under her tangled mass of hair. When her gaze fell on Broderick, tears filled her eyes. Her bleeding and swollen bottom lip trembled. “No,” she whispered. She stepped forward, but they held her back and she cried out.

“Let her go to him.” Angus grinned and pushed her forward.

“Monika, no.” Broderick slumped when she limped through the barrier to go to his side.

She pressed her bruised lips to his face, nuzzling against him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I prayed they hadn’t found you.” She slipped her arms over his head, hugging his neck.

“Hush, Blossom. This isn’t your fault.” Broderick glared at Angus over Monika’s shoulder.

“The witch fornicates with the devil.” Angus chuckled. “She is immune to his magic and obviously loves him.” He turned to his priests. “You’ve seen enough. Prepare the room for questioning. We must still give her a fair trial and bring forth witnesses.”

The priests bowed and left the room.

Angus faced the guards. “I have further instructions for you two.” They followed Angus out of the chamber and Broderick strained to hear what was being said, but his efforts were useless in his weakened state.

Monika shuffled to the bucket and drank some water, then brought the cup back to Broderick. Even though he didn’t need the water, he accepted her efforts to care for him. “Thank you, Blossom.”

She smiled.

Waltzing back into the cell, Angus stood before Marcus, where he withdrew a dagger from his belt along with a glass vial from his waist pouch. Grasping the cork with his teeth, he pulled it out with a pop and handed the vial to Marcus. Angus pushed his sleeve back and dragged his dagger along his forearm. Marcus used the vial to collect the blood.

Once it was filled, Angus handed the cork to Marcus. “Go administer your cure and come back as soon as you are able. Then you can claim the rest of your prize. But you won’t get through that barrier until you’re cured.”

Marcus examined the blood with a growing smile before pocketing the vial. He sauntered forward, his eyes raking over Monika, then winked before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Angus pulled a matching pair of reddish-brown gloves from his belt and covered his hands, then yanked the hood over his head before walking across the chamber…right through the barrier. Broderick’s jaw dropped.

Angus smirked under his hood. “I told you…I would not stop until I saw you dead.” He leaned forward. “Your little incantation is useless against me.” The torchlight cast strange shadows across his chin, illuminating some kind of surface blemishes or deformity. With gentle hands, Angus guided Monika away from Broderick and into the corner. “You’ll have a better view from here.” He tucked his gloves into his belt and pushed back his hood.

Angus back-handed Broderick across the jaw and the chamber spun.

“No!” Monika shrieked.

“Stay back!” Broderick warned her just before Angus landed a blow to his stomach, knocking the wind from him. Another punch to his jaw knocked Broderick’s head into the wall behind him. Monika’s whimpers were muffled as Angus continued to pummel Broderick body. His heart pounded in his head. His moans warbled in his ears. He slumped, wishing he could lose consciousness, but only dangled by his burning shackles.

The chamber was spinning and Broderick struggled to focus his senses on one thing at a time. Angus’s mocking smile. Monika’s worried eyes. A blade flashing in the torchlight. The scent of Vamsyrian blood. Drink, lass. Monika tilted a cup to her mouth.

No!

“Monika, no!”

She stopped drinking and swallowed, wide-eyed.

“You’d rather she be in pain?” Angus tisked. “Broderick, how selfish of you.”

“I’m not going to let her be your blood slave,” he slurred.

Angus chuckled. “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that myself. No, dear brother, I haven’t fed from this little delight…yet. But I shall if you’d like.” Angus sauntered behind Monika and brushed her hair aside. The Hunger glowed silver in his eyes. “What say you, brother?”

“How do you feel, Monika?” Broderick struggled to a seated position, panting as he propped his back against the wall.

“I’m no longer in pain.” She bent over and pulled up the hem of her tunic and showed Broderick her calf. “The bruises are gone.” Dropping her hem, she set the cup down on the stool and went to Broderick’s side. “What were you expecting me to feel?”

“You don’t feel any different, other than better?”

She shook her head.

He sighed.

“You see…no blood slave.” Angus crossed his arms.

“Why would you want to help her?” Broderick glared

“Being completely honest, it furthers my cause. She is healed miraculously from the torture she’s endured, thereby proving she’s a witch.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. In his dream, Angus’s priests had Katrina’s book and Angus made his grand demonstration of the invisible wall of protection. They had all the proof they needed. Is the brute finally gaining a conscience? “This feud between us is futile and there is more at stake than just our own quests for revenge. We should work toward a resolution, you and I. Surely you know about the prophecy by now?”

Angus laughed. “Aye. I know about the prophecy and how you and I cannot kill each other or poor little Davina’s soul here will perish for all eternity because she will no longer have purpose.”

Monika gasped.

“Oh, he didn’t share that piece with you?” Angus shook his head and crouched before Broderick. “Shame on you, Rick.”

Broderick’s gaze dropped to Angus’s chin, now more visible at this angle. Subtle scarring marred his lips and chin. Nothing disfiguring, but enough to notice.

Angus stood and rubbed his chin. “Aye…I learned the hard way that you cannot feed from a member of the Army of Light. They bless their food and drink with the incantation. Their blood is like hot tar on a Vamsyrian’s skin. Dreadful experience.” He paced. “I did figure out how to purge the blessing from their body, though. You’d be surprised what a little persuasion, a gag and some patience can do.” A devious smile rolled across his mouth. “Aye, Rick. I know all about the Prophetess being a Vamsyrian and that she was the one who gave you the incantation. There are a lot of things I know about the Tzava Ha’or and so I know that none of this business about the prophecy matters. We are pawns. Malloren and Cordelia have been playing both of us for fools. We are merely their puppets in this quest for redemption.”

“Is the prophecy a lie, then? What have you learned?”

Angus laughed, but the humor did not reach his eyes. “So now I have your attention,” he said with a low and brooding voice. “No, the prophecy isn’t a lie, which means Monika is indeed Davina incarnate. And my victory today will be complete. Because as you both burn at the stake, you will suffer with your last breath, knowing that your death will bring the destruction of her soul.”

Broderick yanked against his shackles, every muscle in his body strained as he tried to pull his chains from the wall. “What is this grudge you have against me? That I didn’t know we were brothers? I apologize for not knowing! Why must she suffer because you cannot continue living at peace with that mistake that was not my—”

Angus slammed his fist into Broderick’s stomach. Doubling over, Broderick coughed up blood and saw white sparkles at the edge of his blurred vision.

“You still think I’m stupid enough to believe that lie!” Angus shouted in Broderick’s face. “You knew goddamn well we were brothers! Fraser told me you were the one to convince our father to turn me away…a babe at your doorstep!”

Broderick grunted as Angus kicked his ribs. Monika rushed to Angus, who shoved her aside.

“Stay…back…Mon—”

Angus kicked again, cracking Broderick’s ribs. With a rapid succession of punches, Angus battered Broderick until he lay on the floor, bleeding and moaning. Monika whimpered somewhere in the corner.

“Fraser Campbell was a cruel bastard, but he at least took me under his roof in spite of my mother’s betrayal. All Hamish ever did was attempt to erase his mistake by trying to kill me…and you were right there by his side. So don’t tell me you never knew.”

Though his bonds drained much of immortal abilities, Broderick cried out as his body healed and his ribs snapped back into place. His breathing returned to normal and the swelling around his eye receded enough to see Angus pacing and clenching his fists. “He lied to you, Angus. My mother had several miscarriages.”

Angus kicked him again.

Broderick grunted and forced himself to speak through the pain. “I never would have told our father to abandon my own brother, half-blood or otherwise.”

Angus growled and hauled Broderick up by his shirt, slamming him against the wall.

Broderick swallowed the blood in his mouth and whispered, “Fraser either lied, or Hamish never told us.”

“Father Campbell? Do you need assistance?”

Angus clutched Broderick’s face. “You’re lying,” he gritted through his teeth.

Broderick groaned as his ribs healed again. “Your whole life has been a lie, brother.” He hissed and winced through another bone snap. “I’m sorry.”

He shoved Broderick once more before letting him collapse to the ground with a grunt. Monika rushed to his side.

“That damn cure almost killed me!”

Broderick lifted his head and Monika helped him back into a seated position.

Angus held Marcus back with a hand on his throat.

“I want her…now! She owes me!”

The two guards came into the chamber and stood on either side of the door.

“You’re just in time, Sparenland,” Angus growled. “The trial is about to begin.” He shoved Marcus toward the guards who slapped shackles on him.

“What?” Marcus swung at the guards and Angus slammed him against the wall, holding him while the guards finished locking the iron cuffs around his ankles and wrists. Marcus spat in Angus’s face. “You bastard! Your Inquisitor is a Vamsyrian! He’s just like MacDougal!” Angus and the guards dragged him out of the room and into the cell across the corridor, his accusations echoing through the dungeon.

Broderick met Monika’s confused gaze. “He was able to administer the cure to himself?” he whispered.

She shrugged. “He must have had help.”

When they finished locking Marcus in his cell, Angus nodded toward Broderick and Monika. “Take the Vamsyrian and the witch with us. The werewolf will burn with them once the trial is finished.”

* * * * *

Monika’s wrists chafed from the ropes and her back ached from standing on the wooden platform for hours. Angus had made her the main focus of the trial by touting her as the witch who controlled them all. Father Meier’s questioning was brief and the poor man didn’t have much of a chance to defend himself, since he refused to answer most of Angus’s questions about this Army of Light. Angus thrilled at demonstrating Broderick’s healing abilities in front of a rapt audience. Such a demonstration was conviction enough, so his portion of the trial was even shorter than Father Meier’s. And any effort Broderick made at saying Angus was also a Vamsyrian and should be put through the same tests was met with laughter and ignored. Marcus was too uncooperative to put on the stand with his volatile temper and several attempts at attacking Angus and Monika. But the many witnesses testifying that Monika had visited Marcus on several occasions, and not actually tended to the so-called ailing father, were his undoing. One by one, her fellow prisoners were questioned and escorted back to their cells, building the magistrates and jurors up for Monika’s interrogation.

She’d listened to one lying testimony after another as the people from Vollstadt had come forth to blame her for every misfortunate event that ever plagued their village—from cows’ milk drying up and bloody eggs hatching, to flying on her broomstick and casting love spells on every man she ever came in contact with. She could stand the ridiculous accusations regarding poultry and crops. It was the lascivious stares from the men who claimed to desire her that made her want to wretch. Angus had insisted they go into great detail about how she made them think such sinful thoughts, what exactly those sinful thoughts were and how such imaginings drove them to the ultimate depths of sin because they were forced to hide in dark corners, frigging themselves to find relief.

Her heart swelled with pride as her neighbors were brave enough to testify on her behalf, swearing she was not an evil woman, did not perform the outlandish accusations thrown at her, nor did she commune with Satan or command the hounds of hell. Thankfully, her grandmother Mina was not amongst them, nor were the Schmeids. She prayed Helmut had taken Oma to Monika’s father in Nordenham as they originally planned.

However, when the villagers of Kostbar were pressed to provide proof of Monika’s innocence, the only witness they could bear were the good deeds she’d performed through the years delivering babies, healing wounds and caring for them during illness. None of it was good enough for the interrogators. At this point, nothing would be and she was already a witch in their eyes, so it wouldn’t matter if she showed them what a true witch could do. However, with her hands bound, she couldn’t wield any flames to save herself or Broderick, nor would she in this closed environment for fear of hurting her friends. But she hadn’t lost all hope. They still needed to take them outside to burn them on the stakes she’d seen erected in the courtyard. The four stakes had been assembled in the monastery as they’d escorted them from the dungeon to the main reception building.

Angus crossed the length of the courtroom and stopped before Otto, who was seated on another wooden platform. He was situated on the opposite side of where the magistrates sat, the investigating tribunal during the interrogations.

“And tell us what you heard her say after she kicked Jason Kiefer between the legs,” Angus asked.

“I heard it plain as day,” Otto testified. “She said, ‘If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll cast a spell on you and do worse than kick you where it hurts.’ Then she waved her hand over him and walked away.”

An agitated murmur rolled across the room like an ocean wave.

“And then poor Jason was mangled by the hounds of hell at her command!” Otto stood, a grimace on his face, as he pointed at her.

The gathered crowd rose from their seats. The Vollstadt villagers on one side stood shaking their fists and shouting obscenities toward her. Her friends from Kostbar yelled and protested from their side of the room.

“Her mother did the same thing ten years ago!” Otto exclaimed above the din.

The Head Magistrate pounded his wooden mallet. “Silence! That’s enough!”

After several more whacks of the hammer, the mob settled down and sat.

“No more questions. Thank you, Herr Jost.”

Otto stepped down and sneered at Monika as he navigated his way around the table loaded with the “evidence” against her—herbal jars, their house broom and her mother’s book of remedies.

Angus tossed his reddish-brown cloak back over his shoulders and picked up the book, holding it above his head. “And now for the final piece of evidence against Monika Konrads in the charge of witchcraft.”

He opened it and held it in his arms as he walked in front of the attending priests, Abbot Cromer, the magistrates and the jurors. Most everyone shrank from the book as it passed, almost cowering before the pages. Several of them nodded and muttered between each other.

“The entire book is written in the Witch’s Alphabet,” Angus announced. “Also known as the Theban Alphabet and used only by those who practice magick.” He completed his circle around the room, stopping in front of Monika. “Does this book belong to you?”

Monika narrowed her eyes. She would be blatantly lying if she denied ownership of the book, since they had taken it from her cottage. She was already dead. These proceedings were just a formality. “Honestly, Campbell…let us finish this farce of a trial.”

A collective gasp rose from the throng and a multitude of whispers hissed as members leaned toward each other in their private conversations.

Angus smiled. “So flippant about your fate, young lady.”

“You’ve already decided to burn us all.”

“And what makes you say such a wretched and judgmental thing?” He propped his elbow on the rail around Monika’s platform and grinned, obviously amused.

Monika smirked and cocked her head in contempt. “Four stakes and pyres have already been prepared in the courtyard. There are four of us on trial.”

“You have to admit, lass. The evidence against you is most convincing.”

“As I said, let us finish.” She glared down her nose at him.

Angus chuckled as he strolled to one of the guards standing by. The man nodded and motioned for three others to follow him and they disappeared out the side door. Angus redirected his attention to the investigating tribunal members and jurors. “By her own admission, she has consorted with a confessed werewolf—”

“Enough, please!” Monika shook her head. This trial just kept dragging on to the point of madness.

Angus’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline and a smiled brightened his face. “If you don’t settle down, my dear, we may have to do something with that mouth of yours.”

The salacious cock of his eyebrow and smoldering expression was enough to stoke her ire, but the elbow jabbing between the magistrates was the last straw. “It’s obvious what the men in this room find most important—what is between their legs.”

A mixture of gasps and laughter stirred about the room.

“Based on the belaboring of sexual interest in the endless testimonies, I’m going to make a suggestion.”

Angus chuckled. “By all means, my dear.”

“Let us skip directly to pronouncing the sentences—”

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to be patient. We have procedures—”

She raised her voice over the steady hum of the room. “Or the cock of every man who spoke against me will shrivel up and be rendered useless.”

Much to her satisfaction, several men clutched their crotches and rose to demand the proceedings be concluded. Angus twirled with amusement sparkling in his eyes and threw his head back, guffawing.

The Head Magistrate pounded his mallet, raising his hands and demanding silence. Abbot Cromer stepped forward. “It is a unanimous decision, Inquisitor Campbell. Father Wilhelm, Broderick MacDougal, Marcus Sparenland and Monika Konrads are all guilty of the crimes of heresy, witchcraft and murder.” The crowd roared, a mixture of approval and protests flying across the room from the opposing groups.

Angus raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms, smirking at her. Monika mirrored his expression.

Chapter Fifteen

The guards entered the courtroom with Broderick, Father Meier and Marcus, who needed two guards to hold him as he yanked against and fought their hold. To Monika’s relief, Broderick’s condition did seem improved, although he still trudged as if his limbs were weighted. The swelling around his eyes and lips had gone down. He no longer limped or lurched to one side, so his ribs had probably healed as well. His worried eyes searched the room and softened when then fell upon her. She smiled. She would have loved to communicate to Broderick through her thoughts, but if Broderick could hear them, so could Angus, so she kept the ward she’d erected on herself just before the trials began.

A guard escorted her down from the platform. He and the other guards ushered the convicted into the courtyard of the monastery.

When Monika was near enough to Broderick, she reached out to touch him. His foot dragged and he tripped over himself. She gasped and retracted her hand. The ward around her and his already weakened state must have caused him to falter.

He shook his head, but his mouth tipped in a half-smile. “I’m well, Blossom. Don’t take it down for my sake.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.

Each of them was escorted to a stake, bundles of sticks and branches piled to the side, awaiting proper placement. Marcus railed and growled as three guards wrestled to tie him to a stake at the far end. He continued to shout obscenities and accusations that Angus was a Vamsyrian and they were all fools. Father Wilhelm’s brow creased in a very thoughtful expression as he was being tied to his stake. He didn’t seem afraid at all, but instead regarded Marcus and Angus with curious eyes.

The guard escorting Monika looped a length of rope to the iron hook nailed high into the post and secured her wrists above her head. While he tied her waist and legs to the wooden pole, she choked on her sobs as Broderick’s shackles were hooked above his head and his body tied to his stake. Their gazes locked. “I never needed to wait, Broderick.”

His brows rose. “I don’t understand.”

“To tell you I love you. I never needed to wait.”

Tears spilled over his lashes and down his cheeks. Broderick clenched his jaw. “I know. I just thought you’d have more time to say it.”

“I’ve loved you since you first entered my dreams. I can feel this love reaching back through time.”

Broderick’s beautiful mouth curved into a reassuring grin. “Together forever, Blossom.”

“Eternally yours, my love,” she choked. The fire blood coursing through her veins would be her protection, though she’d have to deal with that damning evidence of her magick when it happened. But Broderick would not survive the fire and her heart constricted in her breast. She sagged against her bonds and wept.

Holding a torch in his hand, Angus strolled to Broderick as the guards piled bundles of wood around his feet. “How very touching.” Once the wood was in place, Angus grimaced and shoved the flames into the pyre, then stepped back. “Burn in hell, brother.”

The flames crept around Broderick, the orange light casting harsh shadows across his face as he glared at Angus. “You still won’t be at peace, Angus. You know the truth. You just don’t want to believe your life was based on a lie.”

Angus snarled and strode to Monika’s pyre, touching torch to wood. “Don’t waste your words on me. You should be saying goodbye to your beloved Blossom.”

A breeze whooshed through the courtyard, stirring dust and feeding the flames. Angus chuckled and turned his back on Broderick. He marched over to Marcus and lit the pyre. “I’ve heard enough out of you, werewolf. Enjoy your trip to hell.”

Monika’s hair lifted and flared around her as the flames consumed the pyre at her feet. The hem of her woolen gown smoldered. The garment and the ropes would burn before she did…but would that happen in time for her to save Broderick from the flames? Broderick yanked at his bonds, trying to loosen the chains from the iron hook, but slouched and panted from his efforts.

An inhuman cry lurched from Marcus and all eyes turned to him. Bones snapping and muscles roiling, he wailed through his transformation as the crowd screamed and flowed back from the pyres like sand blown from a rock.

Monika gawked. He must have administered the blood too soon!

Angus staggered back, then stomped forward, heading toward Father Wilhelm’s pyre.

The priest glared and recited the incantation, throwing Angus backward into the crowd, knocking into a guard so hard, his helmet flew from his head. “The Inquisitor is a Vamsyrian!” The priest cast another ward at Angus, but he twirled his cloak like a shield and advanced, unaffected.

“The cloak,” Broderick said. “Wilhelm! The cloak makes him immune to the incantation!”

Monika gasped and her heart thrummed wildly in her chest. “Broderick! You’re not burning!”

He dropped his gaze to his clothes, which were on fire, then grinned. “How?” he yelled over the roaring flames.

Monika laughed. “My blood! You fed from me!” Tears streamed down her face and she hollered with glee. Tugging at her bonds, the burning fibers were loose enough for her to break. At last! Hands free, she pushed the flames down with her palms until they flickered and died. She did the same for Broderick.

Marcus howled as he completed his transformation and broke through his bonds, leaping from the fire and heading straight for Angus.

“Monika! Angus!”

She whirled and called flames to her hands, then lunged as she thrust her palms out casting long streams of fire toward the werewolf and Angus. Marcus roared and patted his hulking arms to douse the flames. Angus twirled his cloak, which had taken the brunt of the blast, swept it from his shoulders and stomped out the flames, cursing.

Another howl echoed across the monastery…then silence, save Marcus grunting and patting the flames on his body. Monika darted her eyes around the buildings.

Bursting through the gate, another werewolf pounced into the courtyard and tackled Marcus. The two beasts wrestled and swung at each other, scattering the remaining villagers, who vacated the area. Marcus dashed for the gate, exiting the monastery, with Symon snarling close behind.

“Papa!”

Angus charged toward Monika and Broderick rattled off the incantation, hurling Angus through the air and pinning him to the stone wall of the reception building. Monika shoved the blackened and smoking wood aside to get to Broderick, but she couldn’t reach the hook to detach his chain. She wheeled to and fro looking for something to stand on or give her leverage.

Father Wilhelm cried out. The flames from Marcus’s pyre had spread, and the priest was about to be burned alive. Monika thrust her hands forward and the flames parted, bending away from Meier until they petered and died. She ran to his side and yanked at the burned ropes. Luckily, the rope holding his hands above his head was easy enough to untie and set him free. Meier winced and limped away from the wooden post, leaning on Monika for assistance.

Angus’s screams suddenly stopped and she twisted to find him on his hands and knees, panting on the ground. Broderick recited the incantation again, but Angus didn’t move.

She encouraged Father Wilhelm to sit on the ground, and helped lift his robe, exposing his thin legs and the burns marring his flesh from mid-thigh down. The priest trembled and moaned. “I know,” she soothed. “We’ll mend you in just a moment and you’ll be amazed.”

He tried to smile and nodded.

Monika snatched a partially burned stick from the ground and used it to lift Broderick’s chain from the iron hook. He fell into her arms and she grunted from his weight. “Help me, darling,” she groaned.

Broderick staggered, but recovered his footing and shuffled to where she’d set Father Meier. Setting him beside the priest, she kissed his brow then searched the empty courtyard. Abbot Cromer poked his bald head above the bushes along the far wall, then ducked with a gasp when he realized Monika spied him. She passed Marcus’s burning pyre, gloving her hand in dancing flames, and marched toward the old man. “Come out from behind there and get me the keys to the shackles or I’ll singe your head.”

“Friedrich!” he wailed through the branches and leaves. “Give her the keys to the irons!”

Monika backed away, releasing the flames, and scanned the area, looking for Friedrich. A jingling of metal chimed to her left and a guard stood up from behind a toppled trestle table, dangling a set of keys on a ring. She dashed toward him and held up her hand. “Toss them to me!”

He nodded and threw the keys, ducking back behind the table, and she caught them with both hands. Whirling on her heel, she lifted her scorched and tattered tunic to race back to Broderick. Kneeling at his side, she fumbled with the irons, trying to find the right key while he winced and hissed. “I’m sorry, my love.” But she finally swung them open and freed his hands. He sighed and slouched with relief.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered, examining the burns on his wrists and the back of his hands. She put her wrist to his mouth and Broderick gasped, his eyes flaring with a silver glow. “Drink, love.”

“Monika, I—”

“Drink.”

His mouth latched onto her wrist and she swooned as he fed. What a glorious sensation. How could I have rejected this in my previous life?

“Monika.” Broderick’s voice coaxed her from a drunken haze.

She smiled with hooded eyes and assessed his skin, then nodded. “Yes, much better.” His burns had healed completely, but his skin was now scarred and pink.

Broderick swerved his head left and right as he searched the courtyard. Apparently finding what he sought, he rose and trotted over to a discarded guard’s helmet. Returning to her side, he knelt beside her and handed her the headpiece upside-down. He gashed his forearm with his fangs, letting his blood pool into helmet. His wound closed almost immediately and he dipped his fingers into the blood. “Father Meier?”

The priest sat dumbfounded, his eyes bouncing between them. “I…I…what have…” Wilhelm’s shoulders drooped and he nodded. Meier hissed and moaned as Broderick applied his blood, but as the burns faded, the priest breathed easier. He grinned. “Thank you.”

Broderick set the headgear aside and slipped his hand behind Monika’s neck, pulling her in for hard kiss. Resting his forehead against hers, he smiled. “You’re amazing.”

“How touching.” Angus glared, his arms crossed, as he paced no more than a six feet in one direction before he pivoted and paced the other direction the same distance, obviously the confines of the invisible prison Broderick had erected.

“I know of the prophecy,” Father Meier said as the three of them approached the furious Vamsyrian. “We cannot kill him.”

“Correct.” Broderick also crossed his arms and the two brothers faced each other in a silent stand-off. Only now did Monika see the familial resemblance. She’d been in too much pain and immersed in the chaos to notice it before.

“We have the ability to imprison him until the prophecy can be fulfilled.”

Angus glanced at Wilhelm, then narrowed his eyes at Broderick.

A tick worked at Broderick’s jaw, his chest rising and falling rapidly under whatever turmoil raged in his mind. Sighing, he rubbed his hand over his face, then clenched his fists. He shook his head. “We have to set him free.”

“What?” Wilhelm stood between Broderick and Angus, demanding Broderick’s attention. “Are you mad? As I understand it, he has done nothing but try to kill you. You can’t let that happen.”

Broderick snorted and punched his fists into his hips. “You people of the Tzava Ha’or have a talent for stating the obvious.” He pushed Wilhelm aside and regarded Angus.

“You really think her soul will perish if either of us dies.” Angus’s statement was not a question, but confirming a fact.

Broderick nodded. “And I know that knowledge gives you leverage against my heart, brother. I could very well have you imprisoned.” After a long pause, he released a seething breath. “But you and I will never overcome our differences if I am the one to take your freedom. The prophecy cannot be fulfilled until you and I end this war.”

“That will never happen,” Angus growled. “So you might as will put me away.”

Broderick stepped forward, until he was a mere foot before Angus, his face twisting with anger. “There is much bad blood between us and I don’t relish doing anything but driving a silver stake through your heart. But I’ve reluctantly come to understand…your quest to have my head was based on a lie. Whether you want to come to terms with this fact or hold onto your anger is your choice. Now that I know the truth, I will not be the one to bring you down. In spite of everything that has brought us to this moment, you are my blood.” The muscles at Broderick’s jaw flexed. “And you’re the only blood I have left.”

Angus pounded his fist against the barrier. “Don’t pretend you’ve had a change of heart! It’s too late for that, Rick!” He paced a few steps, raking his fingers through his auburn hair, then whirled to Broderick, pointing a rigid finger. “You let this barrier down and I will kill her and then you!”

“You are a fool if you let him go!” Father Meier snapped.

“Monika.” Broderick cast her a penetrating gaze.

He didn’t need to say anything. She nodded. Summoning the flames from the embers still glowing at Marcus’s stake, she raised a burning hand toward the priest. “Move and I’ll incinerate you.”

Broderick erected a barrier around them, then withdrew the one from Angus.

Angus pounced anyway, crashing against the invisible wall until he was panting. He snarled and stood before Broderick, who crossed his arms and remained stoic. “This isn’t over.”

Broderick nodded. “Don’t tell me you’ve fed from so many Tzava Ha’or members you’ve adopting their annoying habit of stating the obvious.” He cocked his eyebrow.

Angus snorted and turned away to stalk across the courtyard. Then he stopped. He knelt, picked up his blood-red cloak and leered over his shoulder. He waltzed into the small chapel-like building and emerged with a journal. “Watch your back, brother. You’ll find me there.”

Monika gasped as Angus dashed from the courtyard so quickly, the monastery gate slammed against the brick wall and clattered down the corridor, a cloud of dust and debris whooshing by in his wake.

Broderick dropped the barrier and Monika released the flames.

“You just damned every Vamsyrian who ever hopes to find redemption,” Father Meier reprimanded.

His arms still crossed, Broderick glared at Wilhelm. “Have a little faith, Father. Isn’t that your job?”

The priest opened his mouth, his cheeks mottled pink, then he smirked. “I stand corrected. You are quite right, MacDougal. I need to have a little faith that the prophecy will unfold as it should.”

Broderick’s eyebrows rose almost into his hairline. “I’m impressed, Father.”

Monika hitched her breath at the glowing, yellow eyes coming down the corridor of the monastery entrance. She treaded cautious steps forward until the werewolf stepped into the torchlight. The brown and gray-speckled coat caused her to sigh with relief. She trotted across the courtyard, but her father retreated into the shadows. “Papa, please.” Her bottom lip trembled and she stilled it between her teeth.

His hulking figure eased back into the light, but he held up his large, clawed hand.

She nodded and remained where she was. “Marcus. Is he dead?”

Symon nodded.

“You know we have the cure now, don’t you?”

Symon nodded and his eyes glassed with tears.

She sobbed into her hand.

“Monika?” The hiss of shuffling feet echoed through the corridor.

“Oma!”

Mina scuffled into the light and patted Symon’s hairy arm as she passed.

Monika threw her arms around her grandmother. “Thank the Gods you’re safe.”

“Helmut and Edda took me to your father and we came back as soon as we could.” She pinched Monika’s cheek and grinned. “I’m proud of you, Sprite. Come. Let’s get you home.”

Broderick cleared his throat and strolled to Monika’s side. “That would be with me, now.”

Symon growled.

Broderick bowed. “I’m afraid I’ve compromised your daughter and wish to wed her immediately.”

Symon stomped toward Broderick, and Monika stepped into his path. “Papa!” She glared over her shoulder at her impulsive Vamsyrian. “You couldn’t wait for a more appropriate time to do this?”

Symon huffed and his ears flattened against his head. Broderick stood his ground, hands clenched at his sides. Monika rolled her eyes heavenward.

Mina cackled and swatted Symon’s arm several times as she coaxed him to back down. “I will deal with your father.” She narrowed her eyes at Broderick. “You take good care of her.”

“With my very life,” he vowed and hugged Monika to his side.

A snarl rolled from Symon’s throat and he whirled away from them, plodding after Mina’s shuffling figure, and the two of them disappeared down the corridor, exiting the monastery.

“MacDougal.”

Monika spun around as Father Wilhelm approached.

“Your ship was detained and your crew was arrested.” He handed Broderick a rolled piece of parchment. “This should release your ship. I’ll release your men. They’re in the dungeon below.”

Broderick stiffened. “Have they been harmed?”

“Not as far as I know. They were only arrested because they refused to let the deacons remove you from your ship, but I will be sure they’re taken care of.”

Rick’s shoulders dropped a margin and he nodded. “Thank you.”

Monika waved at the empty courtyard and chaos left behind. “What happens now? We’ve all been convicted and several witnesses can testify—”

“Leave that to me and the Tzava Ha’or,” Wilhelm said. “We have ways of dealing with such matters.”

Broderick frowned. “Is the Prophetess going to clean this up by trying to wipe the memory of at least three dozen villagers?”

Father Meier chuckled. “No, that won’t be very effective in this situation. Before you ask, let us just say it’s best you don’t know.”

Broderick pursed his lips in disapproval and shook his head. “Damned Army of Light.”

“The two of you had better get going and I wouldn’t recommend staying in Kostbar more than a fortnight. The residents of that village were favorable toward you, but the people in Vollstadt could possibly cause problems. There’s only so much the Tzava Ha’or can do to repair an incident like this.” He shook both of their hands, wishing them well and headed toward the doorway leading to the cells below ground.

“Leave Kostbar?” Monika’s throat tightened. “I’ve lived here my whole life,” she whispered.

Broderick pulled her into his arms and possessed her mouth with his.

She melted against him under the sensuous seduction of his lips and tongue and sighed. “If you continue to ravish me like that, I’ll go wherever you want me to.”

He chuckled. “How about Scotland?”

Still dreamy from his kiss, she nodded.

“Then let’s make haste. Dawn approaches.” He swept her off the ground, cradling her in his arms, and whispered in her ear, “Hold tight.”

Monika gasped and squeezed her arms around Broderick’s neck as he dashed from the monastery at the speed of immortality to his ship, taking her breath away.

* * * * *

Broderick cupped his hands around Monika’s smiling, heart-shaped face, her skin hot against his palms and the fragrance of her blood oh-so sweet. Sapphire eyes sparkling with warmth and desire, she inclined her head to meet his lips as he slanted his mouth over hers. Honey greeted his tongue. Hot, eager kisses from his Blossom. His mind swirled and his loins stirred.

Mina repeatedly slapped Broderick’s shoulder with the handful of daisies she clutched and a mischievous breeze swirled around the vine archway and altar. “No, no, no! You’re supposed to wait until I pronounce thee bonded in love,” she complained.

Forcing himself to pull his lips from his wife, he glared at Monika’s grandmother—today, High Priestess overseeing their handfasting. “You tarried too long.”

She cackled. “I now pronounce thee—”

Broderick resumed kissing Monika, muffling her giggles.

“Oh, bother! Bonded in love!”

The small crowd, gathered in the torch-lit platz of Kostbar Village, laughed, hooped and hollered, throwing petals and rushing to the newly-united couple, showering them with congratulations and well-wishes.

Monika righted the wreath of flowers in her hair several times, as each hug nudged it from the crown of her head. Long ribbons cascaded down her back, mingling with her chocolate tresses. Broderick’s irritation grew as each handshake forced him to greet the person offering congratulations—and forcing him to take his eyes away from Monika’s lush curves in her flowing blue robes.

“Beer, sausages and kraut in the kitchen house!” Edda declared, and rousing cheers rose from the villagers. The group milled, laughed and conversed as they started their way down the path to the communal eating house.

“And we brought Scotch!” Andrew shouted. Paddy, Gilbert and Rob raised the casks over their heads.

Another swell of merry cries erupted. Broderick threw his head back and laughed. He took two steps toward his wife, then paused and whirled around. At the far end of the courtyard, Malloren Rune stood with her hands clasped before her, a soft smile touching her lips. He was surprised at her rugged, masculine attire of leather breeches, boots and vest, a long dark cloak hanging from her slender shoulders.

He searched for Monika. She waved from the throng of friends pulling her toward the celebration. He waved back and gestured with a raised index finger that he’d be with her momentarily. Her gaze shifted to Malloren Rune, then back to him and she nodded.

Crossing his arms, he strolled toward the prophetess.

“And thus is the third sign,” she began as he approached. “The book of the Chosen One holds redemption for those innocently cursed, but it is the Protector who will bring peace to his enemy by shedding his blood.”

Broderick nodded. “She and her mother discovered the cure for the werewolf curse, but Vamsyrian blood is the final ingredient. Since those afflicted are bitten, I would wager they are the ‘innocently cursed’ you speak of. Her father was a werewolf. That’s why she was seeking the cure. And I assume Monika, or rather Davina, is the Chosen One and I am the Protector?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I see all has turned out well.”

“Aye.” After everything he and Monika had been through, after discovering the origin of her soul, he could deny the validity of the prophetess no more. He rocked on his heels and contemplated his boots. “You were right and I’m very glad you were. Thank you.”

Malloren nodded.

“She doesn’t have a full recollection of her life as Davina, but her soul remembers our love.”

“I’m not sure she will ever regain all her memories of her prior lives.” The prophetess stared a Broderick for a long moment before speaking. “I also saw in my visions, you and Angus embracing. He did not return the affection and he walked away.”

Broderick clenched his jaw. “Angus was told I convinced our father to abandon him as a babe. His entire idea of revenge has been based on a lie. He still wants to harbor his hatred and I can understand why. Letting go would mean he murdered his own brothers instead of righting a wrong. If we’re ever to reconcile, as the prophecy says, he’ll need to come to terms with that, and I don’t know that he ever will.”

“Only time will tell. Where is he now?”

“I don’t know, but the Tzava Ha’or had better guard against him. He was an Inquisitor of the Church.”

Malloren laughed as if Broderick had just shared a pleasant joke. When he didn’t join her, she sobered. “Whatever for?”

“I think it was to create a cloak, which made him immune to the incantation. It smelled of blood and I think he used the blood of Tzava Ha’or members to create it. He mentioned learning how to taint their blood so he could feed from them.”

“Did he say how?”

Broderick shook his head. “But he had the scars on his mouth to prove he learned their blessed blood would harm him. He has been eliminating the Tzava Ha’or, one by one, having them burned as heretics.”

“Surely not!”

He cocked his eyebrow. “I’m surprised you haven’t received visions informing you of this infiltration of the Church. If he’s fed from as many of the Army of Light members as I think he has, he knows the inner workings of your organization very well. He might be trying to do worse than just make a cloak.”

She paled. “I will inform their leaders at once. Thank you.”

Broderick frowned and closed his eyes to recall Angus’s exact words. “He said to me, ‘There are a lot of things I know about the Tzava Ha’or and so I know that none of this business about the prophecy matters. We are pawns. Malloren and Cordelia have been playing both of us for fools. We are merely their puppets in this quest for redemption.’” He opened his eyes and Malloren’s posture had stiffened, her chin out defensively. “What does he mean when he says the prophecy doesn’t matter? Why don’t you tell me what Cordelia’s part is in all this? What is Cordelia to you?”

Malloren sighed and strolled to the bench at the well. Broderick followed and she sat. “I had a vision almost two-hundred years ago that Cordelia would be the catalyst of the first sign. We didn’t know how that would manifest and I had actually thought I had misunderstood my vision or that we had failed after thirty years had gone by without learning the sign. But then I was given the vision of the first sign and that Evangeline would be the one to see it fulfilled.” She gazed at him, as if she had finished her explanation.

“You still didn’t answer my questions. What is Cordelia to you? And why does the prophecy mean nothing?”

“I honestly don’t know what Angus means by saying the prophecy doesn’t matter.”

“And Cordelia?” Broderick leveled his gaze. “I’m not letting you dodge my question.”

Malloren pursed her lips. “She is a custodian of the prophecy. She and I are working together to gather the scrolls and document the progress.”

“And?”

Malloren huffed. “She has a lot at stake. She wants redemption. Since I am the guardian of the prophecy, we are partners in this quest. I don’t know what else you’d like me tell you, Broderick.”

“You must come around for a visit more often, my friend,” Mina scolded as she shuffled next to Malloren. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

The prophetess grinned like Broderick had never seen before and the two women hugged, as if they were sisters. “Well, you certainly grow better with age, my dear. How I’ve missed you!” She swept Mina into another heartfelt embrace.

“Are you coming to join us?”

Malloren placed a comforting hand upon Mina’s cheek. “I wish I could, but the less I am seen, the better it is for everyone.”

A sad smile creased Mina’s eyes. “Of course. I understand. Please come back more often. I’m not much longer for this life.”

“I will try, but if I can’t, we shall reunite in the next.”

Mina nodded, but her eyes filled with tears. Mend my heart, Lord and Lady. I will not see her again in this life. She kissed Malloren’s cheek. “Goodbye, my old friend.” She patted Broderick’s hand. “You are now Monika’s protector. I have fulfilled my task.” The old woman shuffled away and Malloren rose, a tear sliding down her cheek, regret in her eyes.

“I can see Monika’s love for you, even from this distance,” the prophetess whispered.

Monika stood at the opposite side of the platz, waiting to receive her grandmother, and waved at Broderick. He returned the gesture. Monika wrapped her arm around Mina’s shoulders and they strolled through their guests, laughing and chatting with friends. Peace filled him to the very core of his spirit. I have my Blossom.

Broderick turned to face Malloren…and found no one at his side. She had vanished again. He sighed and shook his head. No matter how much he searched, he would not find her again until the next sign was to be fulfilled.

The hairs on the back of Broderick’s neck rose, the familiar presence of Angus tingling his Vamsyrian senses. He searched the surrounding woods and stopped on a silver, glowing pair of eyes in the darkness. He was certain Angus had heard his conversation with Malloren Rune and only just now allowed his presence to be known. “We are pawns, just as you said, Angus,” he whispered, knowing his brother heard his words. “When the time is right, brother, we will make amends.”

The silver orbs of his eyes lingered…then vanished.

Broderick stared into the dark forest, unmoving, numb, uncertain.

A searing hand slid around his waist and his wife pressed her warm body to his side. “How do you fare?”

Broderick embraced Monika, cradling her against his chest as he rested his chin on her head. “I have you again. Nothing else matters.”

She gazed up into his eyes and pressed her palm to his cheek. “Let us put aside the pains of our past, just for this evening, and celebrate our reunion.”

“Aye. ’Tis the best advice I’ve heard in a long while.”

Her plump lips curved into a wicked grin. “Are you hungry?” She cocked an eyebrow.

Broderick groaned and swept her into his arm. “For you? Always, Blossom.” He crushed his mouth against her sweet lips. “And I will not bide another moment without you in my bed.” The guests were enjoying themselves, eating and drinking and laughing. “They’re not going to miss us for a couple of hours.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Before she could protest, Broderick spirited her away to his ship, where he made love to his wife…and they were gone for more than a couple of hours.

Epilogue

Monika embraced her grandmother for at least the fifth time, tears streaming down her face. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

Mina patted Monika’s wet cheek. “Of course I’m sure, Sprite. Your father will keep me safe and we’ll be good company for each other. Besides, I have a new donkey to train, thanks to you. Your father doesn’t have the patience for such a task.” She chuckled and wiped away Monika’s tears. “You come back often to visit your Oma.”

“You can be sure of that.” They embraced once more.

Monika waited for Broderick and her father to finish speaking. They shook hands, embraced, slapping each other on the backs, and Broderick stepped aside. Monika buried her face in her father’s chest as he held her tight.

“I have told your husband I will hunt him down and use his entrails for a spell if he lets any harm come to you.”

Monika pounded a fist on his chest. “Papa!” She shook her head and laughed.

“He has assured me of your safety.” Symon grinned. “Don’t let too much time pass between visits.”

“The warehouse Broderick’s set up here will keep us coming back often.”

Symon kissed her brow and pushed her at arm’s length. “Go on with you, now.” His eyes glassed and he cleared his throat.

Broderick loaded the last of her bundles and a trunk onto the row boat, where Paddy waited with oars in hand. Monika made one more round of hugs to her friends and kissed Irma’s baby boy on the cheek before waving goodbye to everyone. Broderick swept her into his arms and they cheered. He waded into the water, depositing her into the boat and shoving off from shore. Hopping into the boat and settling at her side, he wrapped his arm around her and held her close. “On to Scotland, Paddy!”

“Aye, Cap’n.” He pulled against the oars, thrusting them through the water one heaving stroke at a time.

Once they ascended the ladder on the main ship and Broderick helped Monika on deck, Andrew tipped his hat. “Welcome aboard, Mistress!”

“Thank you, Andrew!” She twirled and leaned over the rail, tipping her head back and inhaling the salty breeze. She screeched as Broderick threw her over his shoulder and swaggered to the stairs leading below deck.

He paused at the top of the stairs. “I want no interruptions unless we’re being attacked!”

“Aye, Cap’n!” his crew chorused.

Monika’s face burned and she beat against Broderick’s rump. “Put me down you pirate!” she chortled.

He brought her upright into his arms and covered her mouth with his as he walked the rest of the way into the cabin and used his foot to slam the door closed. Broderick tossed her onto the bed and unbuttoned his doublet. “I’m afraid you aren’t going to get much sleep on this journey back to Scotland.” He cocked a brow and tore off his shirt, then reached for his breeches.

She laughed as she tossed her bodice aside and untied her skirts. “I supposed it would do me well to learn to sleep during the day from now on. I shall just have to work very hard to find a spell that will let you stay awake and unharmed during the day.”

Broderick knelt naked before her on the bed, his cock proud and tempting before her. He helped her shed the rest of her clothes and she reached for his shaft, loving the way he hissed from her touch. “God’s blood, woman, what you do to me.”

She took the swollen head of his member into her mouth, groaning as he clutched her hair and guided himself in and out of her. Clutching his thigh as leverage, she bobbed and sucked his cock, stroking his rod with her other hand in unison with her lips. Broderick grunted, panted and whispered her name, encouraging her with wicked words that made her sex clench and her face flush as he pumped his hips.

Pulling himself from her, he bent forward and his mouth drew her nipple between his teeth for a nibble. Monika moaned and arched her back as he cradled her in his arms, his muscular thigh between her legs. She ground her mons against him, squeezing her thighs. Broderick slid his hands over her bottom and lifted her. She grappled in the dark and latched onto an iron bar of the canopy bed, hanging on while Broderick slid his hard length inside her, burying his cock to the hilt. Clutching her bottom, he pounded into her as she screamed his name, throwing her head back and trembling through her climax.

Broderick continued to pump, sliding his shaft deliciously in and out of her. His animal-like grunts and groans sent flutters through her stomach. “Yes! Gods, I love to hear you!”

He hugged her to his chest and brought her down to the mattress, where he pushed her knees to her shoulders. Monika clung to the headboard as he rolled his hips into her, pushing her over the edge for another blissful explosion in her core. This time, Broderick rode with her and they climaxed together, shuddering and bucking until they were both spent and he collapsed on top of her.

Limbs entwined and heaving for breath, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms. Monika smiled and cradled his head to her bosom. “How long will it take to get to Scotland?”

He kissed her breasts. “At least a fortnight to include stops for restocking.” He fluttered his tongue over her nipple. “Why, Blossom?”

She grinned and hugged him tighter. “Whatever shall we do?”

Monika reveled in that thunderous laugh of his, which filled the cabin and her soul. His lips caressed her breasts and belly, tender kisses and teasing licks of his tongue.

“I meant what I said before.” She brushed his auburn hair from his face as he continued to love her with his mouth.

“Meant what, Blossom?” He nuzzled her bellybutton, then fluttered his tongue.

She moaned. “I want to find a way for you to stay awake and unharmed during the day.”

He nibbled her hip. “Do you really think it’s possible?” Though his eyes were hooded with passion, there was a glimmer of hope.

“I don’t know, but if I can find a cure for the werewolf curse, perhaps I can protect you from the sun.” She curled her fingers under his chin. “I will certainly make it my life’s work to do so if it would make you happy.”

“You make me happy.” He maneuvered himself between her legs and kissed her inner thigh. “As long as I have you, Blossom, I’m happy.”

She smiled and sighed, letting her head fall back when his tongue trailed to the sensitive spot where her buttock met her thigh. “Bite me there,” she whispered.

Broderick hitched his breath and groaned. She dropped her gaze to his and those silver eyes glowed between her legs. “Just a simple request from your lips and The Hunger is at your bidding. You truly are a witch.” He smirked, bringing out that adorable dimple.

Broderick slid his hands under her knees, pushing her thighs to her chest and giving him better access to her arse. Monika gasped as his fangs sank into her flesh, swooning under the influence of his feeding. She moaned as he fluttered his finger over her clitoris and Broderick coaxed a climax from her again…and again…and again.

* * * * *

“Are you certain?” Rasheed tossed his book aside and rose from his chair on the balcony overlooking the lower level of their parlor. In two strides, he was gripping the wrought iron rail and assessing his companion below.

Ammon nodded up at him from the center of the large Turkish rug. “Absolutely. I saw Broderick MacDougal and his new wife actually cure her father.”

“You realize this will win us favor with the King.” Mikhail put his wine glass on the marble table before him and sat at the edge of his chair, eyes aglow.

Ammon chuckled. “That isn’t all.” He strolled to the gilded cart and poured himself a glass of the blood-laced vintage from a crystal decanter. “Angus has created a cloak that makes him immune to the incantation.” He swirled the ruby liquid before drinking.

“What?” Rasheed stalked to the staircase and descended with rapid steps.

“Yes, our prophecy brothers have been busy.” Ammon joined Mikhail at the twin chair by the hearth, sitting back and enjoying his refreshment and the attention. “From what information I could gather, Angus has been feeding from members of the Army of Light—he has some method to taint their blood so it won’t harm a Vamsyrian—and then harvesting their blood to stain the cloak. I can only imagine that since their blood is blessed, it is immune to the incantation and one just needs to be encased within. I don’t know for certain, but I would guess the leather is lambskin.”

Rasheed crossed his arms and frowned. “I suppose you weren’t able to obtain this cloak from him, were you?”

Ammon pursed his lips. “As you ordered me, rather emphatically, I was not to engage with him or Broderick because we did not want them to know we’ve been following them. Besides, I’m not sure it works anymore. It was burned during their dramatic battle.”

“This cure for the werewolf curse and the cloak will soften the blow of this prophecy business.” Rasheed paced the length of the rug. “I’m not sure it will be enough to save our necks, though.”

“Ammon, you are too full of yourself at the moment,” Mikhail said. He grabbed his glass and sat back, mimicking his companion’s lazy twirl of his wrist as he played with his wine. “You have saved the best news for last. I know that expression.”

Ammon’s grin spread wide. “The Elementals are not extinct after all.”

Mikhail choked on his beverage, staining the front of his laced cravat.

“You’re a liar!” Rasheed scowled and crossed his arms. “There has been no sign of them in over fifty years.”

“You can thank the blasted church for that,” Ammon snapped. “They all went into hiding because of these ridiculous witch trials and religious wars. However, with the Peace of Prague and the new accession of peace between the Protestants and Catholics of the Imperial Free Cities, the bloody trials are finally dying out, making it safe enough for them to resurface.”

“How do you know this?” Rasheed still doubted Ammon knew what he was talking about. He wanted more than just hearsay.

“MacDougal’s new wife is a Fire Witch. Her grandmother Wilhelmina, an Air Witch. I believe her father is an Earth Mage, but I couldn’t confirm it since the werewolf curse seemed to be blocking his powers and I wasn’t around long enough to watch him.”

“You saw them wield their magick?” Mikhail’s face near shimmered with excitement.

Rasheed rolled his eyes.

“Wilhelmina stirred the air to feed the fires of the pyre so Monika’s bonds would burn, thereby setting her free. Monika was not only unharmed by the flames, but commanded them around her.” Ammon sat back and grinned, taking another long sip from his glass.

“We would have to work very hard to reestablish those alliances.” Rasheed paced. “That will mean a lot of money to court the leaders of their Groves and—”

Mikhail swatted Ammon’s knee with the back of his hand. “Come now! There’s still more. I can see it in your eyes!”

He grinned and sipped his wine, dragging out the moment. “Broderick was not harmed from the flames either.”

Rasheed and Mikhail stared with blank expressions.

“Shall I spell it out for you?” Ammon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his glass. “He fed from her…thereby—”

“Gaining her abilities?” Mikhail leapt from his chair, dropping his wine glass and didn’t flinch as it shattered across the stone floor.

Rasheed sat down on the shallow marble table, his mouth hanging open.

Ammon smiled. “Yes, Rasheed. I am certain. We won’t need to make alliances with the Groves. We make them our blood slaves. We breed them like cattle and not only use them for sustenance, but gain the abilities of their powers as well.”

Rasheed threw his head back and laughed. “This will please the King!”

Ammon rose and strutted to the cart to refill his glass. “Might I make a suggestion?”

Rasheed grinned. “For this information, you may have anything you like.”

Ammon glanced over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his lips. “I like the sound of that.” He slid the crystal bottle top into the decanter and stalked toward Rasheed, circling him like a predator.

Rasheed shivered and cocked an eyebrow.

“Why bring any of this before the King? What if we decided to harvest their powers?”

The blood drained from Rasheed’s face.

Mikhail clutched his friend’s shoulder. “He would have us skinned alive for centuries!”

“Not if we had all these weapons at our disposal,” Rasheed whispered.

“Both of you are mad!” Mikhail’s gawking face swerved between Ammon and Rasheed.

Ammon winked at Mikhail. “Imagine, the King couldn’t touch us if we wielded the elements and had an army of werewolves at our command.”

Rasheed lifted Ammon’s wine glass from his fingers and downed its contents. Setting the glass on the marble table, he smirked and glanced down at the erection straining against Ammon’s breeches. “You do love power, don’t you?” Rasheed rubbed his palm over the bulge and Ammon shuddered.

“Oh, no,” Mikhail scolded. He tugged at his blood-and-wine-stained cravat and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I am the one who needs convincing. You two have a long night of kissing my arse…among other things…before I’ll bend to your will on this one.”

The End

Introducing

A New Series by Arial Burnz

Les Petites Morts

(pronounced lay peh-TEETS mohr)

The Title of the Series

La petite mort, meaning “the little death”, is a French idiom or euphemism for “orgasm”. The new series consists of individual, stand-alone erotic short stories and each of them has the following in common:

10,000 words or less

HOT erotic tales

Paranormal

Twist ending

Les Petites Morts is a double entendre of “the little death”: orgasm (erotic), little (short story), death (horror). The term pluralized, then, means multiple orgasms/multiple short erotic stories.

Historical Notes

There were a few surprising tidbits I learned while conducting my research for Midnight Hunt. According to some of my sources, the Protestants were just as responsible as the Catholics for the persecutions during the witch trials, where my previous studies had led me to believe the Roman Catholic Church was the ultimate villain in history. To add another twist, most of the trials were conducted in the secular courts and by the local legal authorities. However, at this point in history, much of the law was still majorly influenced by the church, and the bulk of the Thirty Years War was about religion—a war between the Catholics and Protestants. Of course, this little scrap of information I provide here only scratches the surface of the complexity of this bloody war, responsible for a loss of more than one-third of the European population during the 17th century.

The witch trials were only a response to the panic and devastation of the Thirty Years War, and fed by the need to lay blame. The year my story takes place is near the tail-end of the witch trial craze and many people were beginning to finally emerge from the fever of accusations. There is a fascinating book, authored by a German Jesuit named Friedrich Spee, titled Cautio Criminalis (Precautions for Prosecutors). It was published anonymously in April 1631 and did much to argue against the use of torture, the inescapable methods of conviction and the extreme practices of execution. In the introduction, Marcus Hellyer—the translator of the book—gives a great background of the author and the mindset of the times. He explains that though this book may have not been a catalyst of change regarding the attitude of the prosecutions, it certain was a valuable resource for the cause. Spee’s arguments, presented in question and answer format, are derived from his personal experiences as a priest, who counseled many of the people convicted as witches and sentenced to such gruesome deaths. A highly recommended read if you’re interested in learning the inner workings of the witch trials.

Vollstadt and Kostbar are both fictional towns created for my setting. Having lived in Germany for three-and-a-half years, I was fortunate enough to learn some of their fabulous culture and history. However, one book did wonders to help me fill in the blanks regarding everyday living of that time period. Our Daily Bread: German Village Life, 1500-1850 by Teva J. Scheer.

Thank you for taking the time to read Midnight Hunt—Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles. I hope you enjoyed the story and you’re looking forward to Book 4—Midnight Eclipse! If you did like the book, reviews are always appreciated at Amazon, GoodReads, Barnes & Noble, iTunes or your favorite book review website. I invite you to visit my home on the web at www.ArialBurnz.com to join my VIP Book Club. You’ll not only receive updates on my latest tales and appearances, but you’ll have access to exclusive contests, additional historical information, maps and character profiles, free short stories and content never included in these books.

I do love to hear from my readers, so be sure to leave a comment on my blog.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Arial Burnz has been an avid reader of both paranormal and fantasy fiction for over thirty years. With bedtime stories filled with vampires, unicorns, hobbits, dragons and elves, she had no choice but to craft her own tales, penning to life the many magical creatures roaming her mind and dreams. And with a romantic husband who’s taught her the meaning of true love, she’s helpless to weave romance into her tales. Arial lives in Southern California, with her husband DeWayne (a.k.a. her romance novel hero)—who is coincidentally a descendant of Clan MacDougal.

Join her VIP Club and get exclusive deals on signed paperbacks, FREE short stories and exclusive members-only content by visiting her website at www.ArialBurnz.com.

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Highland Shifters

Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

Highland Shifters: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set © September 2014

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language, which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

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Cover Art by Willsin Rowe

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Table of Contents

Title
12 scorching hot shifter romances
Table of Contents

Her Scottish Alpha - Tabitha Conall

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13

- A steamy werewolf romance from New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Tabitha Conall...

Liulf - Victoria Danann

- PROLOGUE
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- More Mahdrah Ahlee COMING in 2015

Highland Wolf Pact - Selena Kitt

- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- ABOUT SELENA KITT

Kiss the Dragon - Michelle Fox

- Would you trust a curse to save you?
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine

By the Light of the Scottish Moon - Red Phoenix

- Copyright
- Contents
- Dear Paranormal Lovers,

- He looked up at the moon and let out a long and terrible howl. It felt as if the pain would never end…

- Coming Home
- The Chosen
- Little Lamb
- Bryn
- The Wolf
- Old Wounds
- Rebirth
- You can find Red on:

The Highlander’s Mate - Liliana Rhodes

- Prologue
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen

Highland Moon Rising - Sarah Mäkelä

- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- About the Author

Knights of Stone - Lisa Carlisle

- Copyright
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The Zrakon's Curse - Linda Barlow

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Author's Note

To Tame A Highlander - Adriana Hunter

- Start

Roots and Fang - Skye Eagleday & Ripley Sage

- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine

Midnight Hunt - Arial Burnz

- Copyright
- Original Edition License Notes
- Acknowledgments
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Epilogue
- Introducing

The End

Copyright