Dark Wolf Page 10
“This is all my fault.”
Rhys tsked. “You cannot blame yourself. Jarle would have come here eventually, he’s had it out for Callen since they first battled at Mortimer’s castle, about a thousand years ago. At least, that is the story I’ve been told. I wasn’t around back then.”
“But Jarle’s here now, after he sent me to intrude in Callen’s life.” She wondered why the witch had picked her. The pitch he’d used about her being familiar with Celtic artifacts was starting to sound more and more like a ruse. He needed her at Wolfsden, specifically her. And she wanted to know why.
“You should go upstairs, Dr. Kendrick. Lock the door. Under the bed in your room you’ll find a magickally charged sword. Use it to defend yourself against Jarle, if he makes it this far. I’ll guard the castle from down here. And pray you have no need of the weapon upstairs.”
She wasn’t going to leave Rhys alone. “I’m staying put.”
“Callen will have my head if any harm comes to you. Please. Go. Upstairs.”
The man did not look the least bit pleased at her. “Okay, fine. But if I hear you firing that gun, I’m coming back down and fighting at your side.”
“Fair enough.”
Miranda left the fully armed man in the storage room and headed for the main staircase. Halfway up, she stopped. She had the locket Jarle wanted and she had her own life. Maybe Jarle would settle his anger with Callen if she gave him Aine’s jewelry, and if she agreed to serve him for eternity. At least it was worth a try. And she knew the moment Jarle saw her, he’d think she had what he wanted and that could halt the fighting temporarily.
She turned around and took the stairs two at a time. With a glance at the storage room, she saw Rhys still glued to the window. This was her chance to leave.
Making a beeline for the front door, Miranda was out of the castle in an instant. She scooted around back. And froze.
Jarle stood against the building’s stone façade, his arms folded. “It’s about time, slave. I thought you’d never come out of that damn hellhole.”
Wolfsden was not a hellhole. “How did you make it past Vidar’s men?”
The bastard reached for her neck, ran his gnarly fingers over her flesh. “You took off your locket.”
“I should have ditched the thing months ago.”
Jarle’s thin lips turned upward. “But had you done so then, the power I have over you wouldn’t have extended to Wolfsden as it has now. My hexes have a long reach, slave. All I needed was for you to remove that damn trinket, leave it somewhere in the keep, and I was free to set foot on MacHendrie land.”
Her body went cold. Miranda shivered as she felt every last essence of heat leave her bones.
“That’s right, slave. I am now free to roam this land as I wish. And Callen MacHendrie cannot stop me. He is powerless over me at the moment and it is all thanks to you extending my hex. That curse now encompasses the castle and its grounds.”
“You used me.”
Jarle’s gray eyes grew black. “I use all of my slaves.”
She inched back. “Why did you chose me?”
The witch huffed, his breath deep and warm. A hint of dark magick danced on the air. “You are a rare breed of healer, Miranda. You may be wolf, but your talents go beyond healing those mangy shifters. You are the sole person who can reverse my hexes.”
She had no frickin’ clue. “I can heal Callen.”
“At one time, yes. But not now.”
“Why? What’s changed?” Anger rose in her soul.
“You won’t make it to him in time. My men will destroy Vidar’s horde of warriors, and Callen will fall with them.”
Her mate was not going to die. “Take me instead.”
“I sent you here to get the man’s sword and you want me to leave it be and take your life instead? The life I already own? That’s a shitty bargain, Miranda. Even a lowly wolf-witch like yourself should agree on that point.”
“I have Aine’s locket.” She reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved the silver article.
“Where is the crate of the Viking artifacts you promised?”
She bit her bottom lip but remained silent.
“Do you know what I think, Miranda?”
Her gaze lingered on Jarle’s, flat, thin lips.
“I believe you lied to me,” the Viking said.
“You should know. You’re a master of deception. You’ve been lying to me since day one.”
Jarle glared at her.
A shiver enveloped Miranda’s entire body. Goosebumps broke out along her arms. “I may not have those other Viking artifacts, but I can still give you what you want. Take me, for all eternity. And take Aine’s locket. In exchange, free Callen, leave Vidar’s men alone, and leave Wolfsden intact.”
Jarle rubbed his time-worn face. Brought one of his bony fingers to his chin and tapped. “All eternity? Is that what you are agreeing to?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll turn over Aine’s locket?”
She wasn’t sure that was the best thing to do, but if it did truly belong to Callen’s mother, the woman’s soul would surely want to protect her son’s life. She prayed she was doing the right thing. “I will.”
“Then mote it be.”
In a flash the world spun like a tornado, Miranda’s vision going blurry. When the hazy scene dissipated, she was back at Jarle’s workroom in Inverness.
~~o0o~~
Jarle’s warriors faded from Callen’s sight. He stared at the empty green lawn in front of him and wondered where the hell the vile creatures had disappeared to.
“They are gone,” Vidar said.
“This canna be good.” Callen paused. He searched the landscape for as far as he could see, and not even one of Jarle’s men remained. “It must be a trick.”
A tall, brown-haired warrior from Vidar’s clan approached. “The witch has retreated to Inverness.”
“Are you certain?” Callen didn’t trust Jarle to just pick up and leave without finishing the fight.
“It has been confirmed by our sources in the city,” the warrior said.
Callen turned back toward the keep. “I don’t trust the witch.”
“Nor do I,” Vidar said. “I will go to Inverness myself, but leave my men here for added protection until we know what the bastard is up to.”
He appreciated the Viking’s willingness to keep tabs on Jarle. “I’m going to check on Miranda.”
Heading up the hill, Callen limped back to the castle. The pain in his leg escalated to the point of sheer agony by the time he made it to Wolfsden’s front door.
Inside the castle he found Rhys bolting down the stairs. “She’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Miranda is not in the castle.”
“But I instructed you to keep her safe.”
Rhys lowered his gaze. “I did as you said. I sent her upstairs, told her about the sword under the bed. But the guestroom is now empty.”
“Is the sword still in its place?”
“It is. She didn’t use it.”
“Damn it, man. Miranda never went upstairs.”
“I know she left the storage room. But I do admit, I was focusing on defending the castle, watching out the window to guard for approaching troops.”
His money was on Jarle. “I’m going to Inverness. Vidar’s men believe the witch is there. I believe Miranda is with him.”
“She would never betray you. I’m sure of it.”
He was too, which meant Miranda had probably gone and done something verra stupid, like convincing Jarle to leave Wolfsden Keep in one piece. “I’m going to find her. And bring her back.”
“But the witch will kill you if he’s given the chance. You’re in no condition to fight him, not with the hex still imbedded in your leg.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He was not going to let Miranda die. She was his mate. And he would give his life to spare hers.
Chapter Twelve
> Miranda stood in the center of Jarle’s Inverness office and waited for the witch to make his appearance and reprimand her. He might have agreed to her terms to leave Callen alone, but she knew he wasn’t going to let her get away with betraying him.
She paced in front of the room’s large, metal door. Waiting for the bastard was worse than having to deal with whatever punishment he was certain to hand out.
A click echoed through the air.
Miranda jumped.
Jarle entered the office and lifted his hand. A glowing locket attached to a heavy silver chain, dangled from his fingers. “I’ve reworked the spell that binds you to me, Dr. Kendrick. And it’s set in a new locket, one that you will not be able to remove.” He swung the ornate piece of jewelry in front of Miranda’s face. “It will bind you to me for life. This one and the next.”
She swallowed. Living with Jarle for all eternity was going to be the pits, but at least Callen would be spared. “I want you to remove the hex from MacHendrie’s leg.”
“I’m allowing him to live. That is more than generous on my part.”
Miranda didn’t see it that way. “My life for Callen’s. Aine’s locket for the sword. That is what we agreed on, which means the hex should be lifted because the weapon it is encased in will no longer be bound to you.”
A dark gaze filled Jarle’s eyes. He sat down at his desk and tapped his fingers against the blotter. “I will agree only if our arrangement includes you using your healing powers to do whatever I ask.”
She thought that would be automatically included in the bargain. Apparently, not. Maybe she was more powerful than she had previously thought. But at this stage, her magickal abilities no longer counted for anything. Jarle was going to use her to do evil. With any luck, her powers would eventually fade. “Fine.”
“Let’s start with the locket.” The Viking witch wiggled his fingers, commanded her to display the silver piece of jewelry.
Miranda obeyed. She plucked the item from her jeans pocket and dangled it from her hand. “Before I turn this over, I want you to verbally free MacHendrie.”
Jarle leaned back in his chair and growled. He then nodded. “I, Jarle, Norse witch and warrior, release the MacHendrie from my control.”
The office door slammed opened. “Not so fast, Viking.” Callen stood at the threshold, his sword raised high. “Get out of the room, Miranda.”
~~~~~~~
“She stays put,” Jarle said, rising from his chair. “The woman is mine.”
“Like my mother?”
“That half-wolf never knew her place.”
“She knew enough not to marry you.”
“Only because your uncle introduced her to that mangy dog he befriended.”
His father was no dog. Callen stepped into the room, his fingers gripped around his sword’s hilt. His knuckles went white. “Your war with my uncle Mortimer should never have been. Your ally fought my uncle under false pretenses.”
“Your uncle killed my wife.”
“That’s not true. If you lost members of your family during the battle between Mortimer and his enemy Rorik, you have only yourself to blame. You should have never brought your family to the battleground.”
The witch did not appear pleased.
A sword materialized in Jarle’s hand. “I have agreed to free you, Highlander. Now go and leave Dr. Kendrick to me.”
“Never.”
He eyed Miranda. “Step away from the desk.”
She remained in place. “I’ve already made the agreement, Callen. This is your chance to be free of pain. You deserve to live life without being in agony every moment.”
“I said, step away from the desk.”
“No.”
“Now is not the time to be stubborn, wumman.”
“I’m not going to let you give up your one chance at freedom from pain. I’m staying with Jarle.”
Callen glared at the Viking witch. “Take my sword and take me. In exchange, my mother’s locket is returned to Wolfsden, and Miranda is freed.”
The witch smirked. “An eye for an eye. I think that is fair.”
Cal motioned for Miranda to come to him.
Tears clouded her eyes. “I won’t let you do this.”
“You must go. Now.”
He used his magickal powers to move Miranda’s feet forward.
She reached into her pocket and then slipped something to Callen at the door.
“Are these beads from Jarle’s hair?”
“Yes. I took them before I left for Dundaire. Use them to deflect or hamper the witch’s energy.”
Vidar appeared in the doorway. “Come, Miranda.”
She glanced at Callen. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“I know. But do this for me, please. I need to know you’re safe.” Callen reached for her, brushed the slightest of kisses against her lips, and then pushed her from the room and slammed the door shut. His mate would be safe with Vidar. Even if he died here fighting Jarle.
~~o0o~~
Jarle walked up to Callen and grabbed him by the hair, forced his head back. “I am not content to own you, Highlander. Wolves have only presented problems for me and have done so for more than a thousand years. I say we fight today. Put an end to our war, winner take all. Loser dies.”
He had no problem killing the Viking bastard. “Agreed.”
“Toss the sword.”
“I thought you’d want the fight to be balanced, witch. Or your victory would not be a true one.”
Jarle flung his sword across the room. He dropped his hand from Callen’s hair and then moved his arm, forcing all the furnishings in the office to vanish.
A second later they were in an open field.
“Drop your weapon, wolf.”
He did as was asked.
“Good, dog. Now I will choke the life out of you. I’ve waited so long for this moment.” The witch punched him in the thigh.
Callen fell to his knees.
A new sword materialized in Jarle’s hand.
Memories of their first fight came flooding back to Callen. Memories of how he ran down the tunnel under Mortimer’s castle. How he shifted to wolf form and charged the Viking witch. He should have shredded the beast back then. The wolf in him would have delighted in putting an end to Jarle’s evil soul.
“Take your last breath, dog,” Jarle said.
Nobody called him a dog.
Callen shifted, brought his wolf to the surface of his soul. In animal form, he snarled.
Jarle raised his sword.
Callen rolled away.
The witch went after him. “I bested you once, I will do so again.”
“You won’t win this time, Viking.”
“I have the advantage. I have the only weapon on the field.”
But he had teeth. Razor sharp teeth.
Callen leapt forward. As his body completed the shift to wolf, he tossed the silver beads at the Viking witch.
They did no good. All these years he’d searched for them and it was all for nothing.
His paw lit up with a white, pulsing aura.
Jarle swung his sword.
The blade sliced Callen’s midsection. Blood gushed from his body as he flew through the air, then landed on the ground.
Pain hammered his every muscle.
Jarle laughed above him. “Now I will finish you off. Kill you like I should have done when we first met.”
He was not going to let the bastard get away with this. Concentrating on his wolf soul, Callen garnered every last bit of strength he had left in his wounded body and took one more go at the witch. He bared his teeth.
Jarle inched backward.
Callen reached for the Viking’s leg and scratched his flesh.
Wispy tendrils of the glowing aura emitted from Cal’s paw and wrapped around Jarle’s ankle.
The witch’s foot slipped and went out from under him, sending him to his knees.
The beads. Thanks be to heaven, they did work.
Leaping from the ground Callen went for the Viking’s neck. He tore into the bastard’s flesh, then his bone, and finally snapped his spinal cord.
Jarle fell forward, all life drained from his body.
Pain eased from Callen’s leg.
It was finally over. His hex lifted and Miranda was safe. He thought of the many other slaves Jarle had owned. They were now all free souls, too. The world was already a better place.
A warm breeze blew across the grass.
The field vanished, replaced by the empty office. Callen looked down at his wound. No wolf could survive that much blood loss, but at least he would go to his grave knowing Miranda was free. He had saved his mate, and for that he was grateful.
Metal slamming against wood echoed through the room.
“For the love of Thor, Highlander. What have ye done to yourself?” Vidar ran to his side.
Callen shifted form. “It’s over, friend.”
“Like hell it is. I will not be known for letting a Highland wolf die on my watch. And I certainly will not let you go to Valhalla while I am left on this earth. You will tell bad tales of me there.”
He gave up a laugh, but it hurt like hell. “Take care of Miranda.”
“I will not take an American wolf as a ward.” He slapped a handful of something moist on Callen’s side.
Heat flared against his skin. “What in heaven’s name did you put on me?”
“A salve. Compliments of your woman.”
The pain subsided. “Bury me at Wolfsden.”
“If I bring your corpse back to your father’s land, he will kill me. Now get on your feet.”
He tried to push himself up, but it was no use. He hadn’t the energy. “I canna move.”
“Then I guess I will have to carry you. But not without your skirt. Miranda insisted I bring it with me, along with the salve.” Vidar produced a kilt and covered him. “Now we can go to Wolfsden.”
He was going home to his mate. To his pack. To his destiny.
Epilogue
He’d spent two weeks in bed and couldn’t take another minute of not doing a damn thing.