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  That didn’t give her much time.

  Jarle rose from the stool and headed for the door.

  She wiped her sweaty palm across her thigh, the denim of her jeans scratching against her skin. “When I return, can we please discuss the terms of our agreement?”

  The witch paused. “Bring me the blade and I’ll guarantee you’ll be free of me.”

  “I’ll get my passport back, too?”

  “Why? Planning on going somewhere, slave?”

  She wasn’t sure. Jarle had taken her many places, from London to Paris to Stockholm and now to Inverness. But she wanted to go far away from the man and start new. “It’s all I have to my identity.”

  “But we made her up. You couldn’t even remember your real name when I found you.”

  “I still want it.” It didn’t matter she had no clue about who she was or where she came from. Her memory was so shot with holes it made Swiss Cheese look solid. But Miranda Kendrick came to be a person she liked. And she wasn’t giving up the new her for anyone. Not even Jarle.

  “When you bring me the sword, I’ll no longer have use for your passport.” With those words, the Viking witch left the room.

  She prayed her master wouldn’t renege. But just in case, she slid the small piece of obsidian discarded from the cursed heart, off the table, and squeezed it between the two components of the latch on her locket. She also retrieved Jarle’s silver hair beads from the floor and slipped them into her jeans pocket. Having something of the Viking on her person might help her lessen his powers if need be. At least temporarily with the right spell. If, when she returned from Dundaire she had to fight Jarle for her freedom, she’d be able to repel a degree of his darkness. And that might give her something to bargain with.

  Chapter Two

  Wolfsden Keep, Dundaire, Scotland

  The plane ride home had vexed Callen’s leg with a pain so wicked, he’d found it nearly unbearable to walk yesterday. At least this morning he made it downstairs. Another day in the States and he would have been bedridden for at least a week.

  He lowered himself into the library’s sole overstuffed chair and rested his walking stick against its arm. The cane’s custom-made wolf head slid into a small tear, its open mouth biting down on a chunk of MacHendrie-blue tartan. If only his destiny was as easy to grab hold of.

  His gaze traveled to the coffee table. A tattered, leather-bound French copy of Sun-Tzu’s The Art of War sat in the center, a stack of political thrillers piled to its left.

  His brother Rhys knew him well. The man might insist on being butler at Wolfsden, a notion he couldn’t wrap his head around since Rhys was never looked upon as anything other than blood, despite having been adopted into the pack by his father, but the wolf was damn good at keeping the castle ship shape and content. And considering Wolfsden was a living, breathing entity, that was no easy feat. He couldn’t count how many days he’d woke to the castle shaking, throwing a temper tantrum over one dumb thing or another.

  When the MacHendrie wolves were happy, Wolfsden keep was happy. And today, despite his throbbing thigh, was a good day.

  He eyed the coffee table again.

  If it weren’t for books, he’d have no escape from the reality of being an Alpha-in-waiting with no mate and no warriors. Even his blood brothers had gone on to new lives, setting up homes scattered across the estate. Not that he’d begrudged his siblings their freedom, for they each had enough pups to form their own packs, and he loved his devilish nephews to the point he’d give his life to save theirs. But family cudna erase the loneliness that settled into his world thanks to Jarle’s curse. And until he found a way to lift the damn hex without harming anyone else, he’d have no chance at fulfilling the role he was born to take.

  The muscles in his thigh cramped.

  Stretching his legs, he pushed the glass-topped coffee table out for more space, making a mess of Rhys’s meticulously grouped furniture arrangement. Did the man really think a six-foot-four wolf could fit his legs into a one-foot gap? Even bent his limbs cudna find comfort in that pigeonhole.

  The room’s double doors creaked open.

  Rhys entered the library, his short brown hair combed back in its usual simplistic fashion. His clothes, however, were another story.

  Callen eyed his brother’s outfit and squinted. “What in heaven’s name do you have on?” The combination of lemon yellow Bermuda shorts and lime green floral shirt, made his eyes ache.

  Rhys glanced down at his clothes. “A gift from Mortimer and Katya. One of their vampiric fledglings flashed over this morning and dropped it off. Apparently, their honeymoon has afforded them excellent shopping opportunities.”

  Excellent was not the word he would have chosen to describe Rhys’s outfit, but a happy butler made for a happy wolf. And this wolf was not in the mood to be put out today.

  “Up for a dram?” Rhys asked. The clanking of glass echoed from the liquor cabinet as the butler shuffled two decanters.

  He’d kill for a good Scotch, but the pain killers had him in a daze as it was. “I’ll pass, but thanks.”

  He rubbed his thigh, the friction from his kneading fingers seeping through his jeans. The massage offered little relief from the weeks-old pain hammering his leg, but at least it was something. “You really should have gone to the wedding.”

  “And leave Wolfsden empty? Are you insane? The last time Dad did that, the pack returned home to a depleted supply of whiskey and plumbing racked with so many holes, most of it had to be replaced. Dad nearly had a heart attack over the bill.”

  Leaving the castle vacant had been a mistake that time. Maybe Rhys was right staying home. Mortimer certainly didn’t seem to be put out, the gift to Rhys testament to that fact. The vampire knew his adopted nephew loved bright colors, and he’d definitely picked shocking tones in that shirt and shorts combo.

  His head was starting to ache. “Finbar isn’t usually this late.” He eyed the green and blue Rococo clock centered on the marble mantle. Marie Antoinette’s gift was never off, not even by a second.

  “I’m afraid Ms. Finbar won’t be returning to Wolfsden.”

  He quirked a brow. “Why not?”

  “While you were in New Orleans, the woman came by to retrieve a hat she’d left behind on her last visit.”

  “And?”

  Rhys hesitated. “I was roaming the grounds, au naturel.”

  Damn. He knew Rhys hadn’t been wolf for long, but after a few centuries the man should have learned to guard his animal form. “How many times have I told you not to wander the estate, as wolf, in broad daylight? That’s the third intern I’ve lost this year thanks to you scaring them off. Never mind that sweet little grad-student who came all the way up from Edinburgh.”

  “Do not fret, bro. I cleared up the mishap by explaining to the university how Wolfsden has a wild life preserve and one of the wolves had escaped its pen, but that the incident will not repeat itself.”

  “And yet, Finbar will not be returning.”

  “I’m afraid not. Apparently, she doesn’t favor wolves.”

  At the moment, he didn’t favor a particular wolf either. “We’ll need to find a replacement.”

  “Already taken care of. Your new intern will be here within the hour. She’s coming up from Inverness.”

  “That’s convenient. We haven’t had a student from so close by in years.” He paused. “Did you offer enough money to buy her silence?”

  “Of course.”

  Paying a hefty sum afforded him some degree of no questions asked when it came to the artifacts he needed catalogued. For the right price, there was always someone willing to not only trek up to Dundaire, but to also keep quiet about the finds turned up at the dig site. And keeping his family’s precious artifacts out of the news, was paramount.

  He let out a deep breath. “Maybe I will have that Scotch.” Drugs be damned. At least as an immortal shifter, he didna have to worry about killing himself by mixing alcohol and pills. He’d get a
slight buzz, maybe a bit of a hazy brain, but he’d survive.

  Rhys approached with the drink, dropped a coaster onto the table, and handed Cal the glass.

  A prism of color glinted off the cut crystal.

  Taking a swig of the caramel-colored malt, warmth coated his throat. Nothing relaxed him more than did a good gulp of his favorite liquor.

  Callen’s thoughts returned to the intern. Starting over with a new student meant facing a slew of the same old questions, as humans were excessively inquisitive. They always needed to know the castle’s history, were beyond curious about the multitude of wolf motifs incorporated into the building’s design, and had a penchant for asking questions about his family’s long history at the castle. Over the years, he had answered a crapload of questions and they never lessened, regardless of how many interns he’d gone through. And now he’d have to start anew.

  A deep breath escaped him.

  “Have you given any more thought to hiring a preternatural physician?”

  “I have. And like I told Uncle Mortimer, I’m still against it.”

  Rhys frowned. “They’d know how to treat your leg properly.”

  He scooted forward and placed his glass on the table, its thick edge teetering off the coaster with a clink. He sat back and rubbed his thigh again. “First, I will not put another soul in danger of absorbing the curse. And second, an immortal canna be trusted in this case. I dinna need someone who might have a connection to Jarle, poking around my leg. That bastard still lives and he is not getting anywhere near Wolfsden unless it’s on my terms. And for that, I need to find him before he finds me. I will not risk the family.”

  The doorbell rang, prompting Rhys to leave the library without commenting further.

  Thanks be to God. His brother never failed to have an opinion and while he was thankful for the man’s concern, Rhys didna have the same responsibilities as an Alpha-in-waiting.

  He rose and grabbed his wolf-headed walking stick before limping into the main hallway. He glanced down once, checked his white shirt for signs of spilled Scotch since the painkillers had him in a bit of a daze, but no stains marred the garment. He was good to go.

  A single step and his ears pricked.

  The hairs at his nape stood on end.

  Raising his gaze to the front door, his eyes met the back of Rhys’s loud shirt. The man’s broad body blocked all views of their new helper.

  This cudna be good. Humans didna usually put him on edge.

  He continued to stare at Rhys’s back.

  What the hell was the man waiting for? Didna he know not to waste time with niceties when it came to mortals who were not part of their inner circle? The student didna need to feel welcome at Wolfsden. She just needed to be comfortable enough to do her job.

  He limped toward the chatting butler, his wolf sense still uncertain about the woman at the door.

  Rhys stepped aside.

  Cal’s breath caught. He’d never seen hair as vibrant, coppery red as on the woman who’d just entered his home. Nor had he seen eyes as brilliant blue as the ones staring back at him.

  “Miss Miranda Kendrick,” Rhys said, going all proper, turning to face Cal.

  He gaped, of that he was certain for he didna feel his mouth close after it had dropped open.

  “Excuse me,” Rhys said to Miss Kendrick. He stepped away, approached Cal and leaned in. “’Tis just a woman. Humans do come in that sex.”

  He huffed. Sarcasm always brought him back to reality. “Forgive my lack of manners.” He pushed the snarky Rhys out of the way. “The leg pain sometimes gets the best of me.”

  “Liar.”

  “Stay out of my head Rhys or you’ll be sleeping with the dogs tonight rather than in your tricked-out wolf pad. And I do mean the real dogs.”

  His brother nodded, then walked over to shut the door.

  “Miranda,” the woman said.

  Cal offered Miss Kendrick his hand. “Callen MacHendrie. But please call me Cal. All my friends do.”

  “I thought making friends was off limits.”

  “I thought you didna like sleeping in the kennel.”

  Rhys snickered.

  Cal smirked and then focused on Miranda. “Please,” he said, shifting his lips into what he hoped was the most flattering smile ever. “The most recent crates of artifacts are across the hall, but if you need to do paperwork before hand or have questions, we can start in the library.”

  “Everything I need is right here.” Miranda patted the black tote bag dangling from her left hand. She retrieved a blue folder from inside. “My professor filled me in on the details. He said the items from this batch that need cataloguing include swords and jewelry?”

  “Correct. There are a few other things, but the bulk of this lot is made up of jewels and weapons.” Miss Kendrick seemed to have a genuine interest in the job. He liked that. Maybe this one will stick around and help with next season’s finds. “I guess we should get to work, then.” He turned and headed toward the room at the far end of the hall. The large space with its climate control system and vaulted ceiling made for the perfect interim storage facility.

  “I trust there is no issue with you staying here for the week? I didn’t see a suitcase.” He glanced over his shoulder, curious about Miranda’s schedule as Rhys hadn’t mentioned any details.

  “A week is fine, though anything more and I’ll have to check with my professor. My belongings are in my car, in the drive.”

  “I’ll have Rhys get them for you and bring them to the guest room.”

  A beam of sunlight rained down from the stained-glass dome three stories above, and glistened off Miranda’s red hair as she walked across the hall.

  Callen’s heartbeat accelerated. The wolf in him shifted, rippled under his skin with the slightest of waves, though thankfully not enough to be detected by the human eye. Down boy. The wumman is not ours to keep.

  His focus returned to Miranda who seemed to be in awe of the castle as she stared up at the intricate glass ceiling. “The detail in that dome is amazing.” She pursed her lips. “Is that a pack of wolves in the design?”

  “It is,” he answered.

  “The craftsmanship is remarkable.”

  “It’s been repaired a few times as my family considers the preservation of Wolfsden a duty. The castle is part of our history.” A low rumble quaked under his feet. He prayed to God, Miranda didn’t sense it.

  “I can’t imagine living in a home that belonged to my family for generations.”

  Miss Kendrick was definitely not a Scot. “Where are you from, originally?”

  “New York,” she said. “But I’ve been traveling the world these last two years and am currently based in Inverness.”

  A second rumble vibrated. “And are you enjoying Scotland?” Anything to distract from the fact his castle was a living entity.

  She hesitated. A worried look crossed her brow.

  Crap. Maybe she had felt the ground shaking. Don’t interfere, Wolfsden. She’s human, she won’t understand you being a living, breathing building.

  The castle went calm.

  “Miss Kendrick?”

  “I don’t get outside the city much. My studies keep me busy.”

  “I see.” Alarm raced through his soul. Miranda’s look didn’t confirm her words. Something was keeping her in Inverness and he doubted it had anything to do with her education. “Then it’s good that you’ve been able to join us up here in Dundaire.”

  “It is. Though I must admit the area is not what I expected.”

  “How so?”

  “This is going to sound strange, but the air seems more alive here, even smells different, almost as if it carries a faint trace of sage.”

  His gut twisted. He didn’t know if he liked Miss Kendrick sensing Dundaire’s powerful magick. While most humans did find the village to be a bit off from other towns, only fellow shifters or animals detected the scent of sage. “The higher elevation of Dundaire often causes people t
o feel different, to think this a magickal place.”

  “And what do you make of Dundaire, Callen?”

  The wumman was beyond bold. “It’s just home.” He prayed the answer would suffice, then turned about and started for the storage room.

  Two steps forward and something caught the bottom of his walking stick. Lifting the wolf-headed cane, Cal noticed a model car tire jammed into the skid resistant base. Blasted toys. When would he learn to stop buying his nephews playthings with small parts? Jiggling the tire free, he also loosened the cane’s rubber-tipped foot. A good slam against the hall’s marble-tiled floor pushed it back.

  A thud sounded behind him.

  Spinning around, he found Miranda flat on her face, the files from her folder scattered about her splayed body.

  He limped to her aid and crouched. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  He offered her his hand.

  A zing of electricity shot up his arm as her fingers touched his.

  Miranda appeared unaffected. She stood and straightened her green shirt and then brushed off her jeans. “I feel so stupid. I must have tripped over my own foot.”

  He glanced around to check for additional toy parts, but found none. “Please, no need to feel embarrassed. You’re talking to the king of tripping for no reason. I’ve landed on my ass more times than I can count and some days I canna even stand straight.” He gathered the documents and handed them, along with the blue folder, back to Miranda.

  She grabbed the papers and shoved the pile into her bag.

  Her eyes flashed neon blue.

  Cal blinked.

  Miranda stared at him, a puzzled look on her face. Her eyes were back to their previous brilliant blue coloring. “Is something wrong?”

  He hesitated. “Um…no. Just another twinge of pain in my leg, that’s all. The artifacts are this way.” He headed once again toward the storage room.

  What the hell was happening to him? He hadn’t hallucinated in centuries. Maybe mixing drugs and alcohol was not as harmless to his wolf as he’d thought.

  Or...

  Maybe Miss Kendrick was not the innocent human he had believed her to be.