Dark Wolf Page 4

  Her body eased beneath him.

  The crotch of his jeans grew tighter. He shifted. He should not be doing this, playing into Miranda’s naïve state. She hadn’t a clue as to what she was and neither did he. But he intended to find out. And fast.

  Callen lifted his head.

  Miranda frowned.

  “Disappointed?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Against his better judgement, he lowered his head once more and brushed his lips against hers.

  She parted for him, welcomed his tongue without protest.

  The flavor of honey filled Callen’s mouth. He released his hand from Miranda’s right wrist and glided his fingers under her shirt, over her waist and then up to her right breast.

  His palm collided with her plump nipple, the protruding bud straining against the lace of her bra.

  He groaned. The feel of her aroused nipple under his hand made his cock really strain against his jeans.

  A slight moan escaped Miranda’s throat. Arching her hips, she bumped against his crotch.

  Callen pulled away. “Don’t do that.”

  “What? This?” She shifted against him a second time.

  “Yes. That. Now stop it.” A flash of silver caught his eye. Forcing Miranda’s arms above her head, he clasped both her wrists with one hand. “You don’t listen verra well, do you?”

  “I don’t take orders from beasts.”

  He grinned. “This is nothing, lass. The animal in me hasn’t even begun to surface.” He brought his free hand to Miranda’s neck and pulled on the decorative silver locket that graced the space just above the cleft between her breasts.

  “Let it go,” she said.

  The object was cursed; of that he was certain. “You shouldn’t be wearing this.” A drumming vibration pulsed against his palm. The aura of a living heart. The locket reminded him of the one found in his mother’s jewelry box at Mortimer’s castle before Vikings sacked the fortress. He wrapped his fingers around the piece and held tight.

  Miranda managed to pull one hand free and slammed his chest with a fist.

  “Don’t fight me, wumman.” He tried to keep her left hand braced against the floor while fending off the punches. It didn’t work.

  Miranda squirmed, broke free just enough to send her knee into his wounded thigh.

  Stars clouded his vision. He rolled off his sexy little thief and stifled a howl. He cudna let her see him as wolf. Not yet.

  Miranda was out of the room in seconds.

  Rhys appeared in the doorway and ran to Callen’s aid. “What the hell happened in here?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  “We should be going after Miss Kendrick.” Rhys offered Callen his hand. “She’s taken your sword.”

  “She’ll be back. I have her heart.”

  “Perhaps you’re being a bit too presumptive?”

  Callen rose. “No. I mean literally.” He lifted his hand and revealed the swinging locket. “I have her heart. Well, I have the aura of it, which magickally is the same. Miranda won’t make it two feet past the front door without this.” He steadied himself by leaning on the edge of the work table.

  “I’ll go get her,” Rhys said.

  “No. I think it best be me. We need to have a chat, the two of us.”

  The pain from being kneed in the leg started to ease. Callen headed out of the storage room and straight for the front door.

  ~~o0o~~

  Miranda grabbed her chest, placed her hand over her frantically beating heart and gasped. She needed a place to hide.

  Scanning the area, she cursed.

  Wolfsden Keep afforded no refuge, its grounds being made up of open, rolling hills that seemed to go on forever, their vibrant green color appearing almost surreal. But beautiful countryside wasn’t going to save her from Callen MacHendrie and for some odd reason, she was suddenly too tired to move. Running away was not going to be possible.

  A row of privy hedges lining the front of the castle caught her attention. She rounded the green bushes and slumped to the ground. As she leaned back, the castle’s stone façade cooled her rising temperature, took the burn from her skin. A trickle of sweat dripped down her cheek. She had the world’s worst timing. According to the weather report she’d watched last week, Scotland hadn’t had a summer this warm in years.

  Maybe Jarle had brought her here on purpose. He knew damn well the heat reminded her of that horrid night he’d found her on the street.

  The memory sent a cold chill down her spine.

  She shook her head and ignored the painful thoughts. All that mattered right now was the damn walking stick clutched at her side.

  She wiped her face with the back of her free hand. Callen’s cane remained gripped in her fingers, the silver wolf at its head watching her, its mouth twisted in a snarl.

  Jarle had a penchant for guarding her every move. A second hawk wasn’t what she needed. With a gentle roll, she turned the wolf away.

  A warm wind blew across the lawns.

  Her shoulders ached.

  The stones at her upper back, along the castle’s façade, started moving. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the castle was attempting to massage her aches away. But how could a building know what she was feeling?

  A low rumble reached her ears.

  She caught her breath, sucked in a deep gulp of air. The scent of roses danced under her nose. On the drive over, she hadn’t taken in the beauty of the castle’s immense grounds, but sitting here now, with the hills fanning out for as far as the eye could see, the landscape at Wolfsden was breathtaking.

  A sigh sounded at her back.

  Wolfsden was a strange castle. Maybe it did have a mind of its own, could sense emotions from those living within its walls. Jarle had exposed her to some seriously weird stuff since he’d rescued her, so a living, breathing castle wasn’t totally shocking to her sensible mind. Maybe that’s why Callen seemed so fond of the place. Living here certainly appeared to suit him.

  All she remembered of her past, with the exception of a few distinct memories of her childhood, was that dark, dank street where Jarle had found her living no better than a rabid dog. Dundaire offered so much more than any crowded city could ever give. No wonder Callen MacHendrie was in love with his castle and the magnificent finds it kept revealing from its archeological dig. She’d become engrossed with Wolfsden Keep, too, if it were her home.

  Plucking the top of her shirt to peel it off her sweaty chest, Miranda detected the spicy scent of bergamot mixed with clove. The perfume clung to her clothes, teased her nose.

  Callen.

  The man smelled so damn good. And while she’d thought him a hot Scot right from the get go—she would have had to been blind not to—until he was on top of her, she hadn’t realized just how muscled his chest and arms were. The man was blatant perfection. Never mind his off the charts kissing abilities. Her lips and neck still stung from the sear of his touch.

  Visions of that velvet-draped bed returned to her head.

  Don’t even go there, girl. Cal MacHendrie was not part of her future. He couldn’t be. She came to steal from him and that little blemish did not make for good girlfriend material.

  Her eyelids grew heavy. She hadn’t felt this tired in ages and all she did was run a few feet. What the heck was happening? A physically fit twenty-seven-year-old who ran six ten-minute miles on a daily basis should be able to run marathons around this place and not lose steam.

  Miranda lowered her head. She inched forward and ran her free hand over the cool grass.

  A pair of brown, tasseled loafers appeared in front of her.

  Cal.

  Her gaze raked up his legs, over his shins and thighs, settled for a brief second at his crotch.

  He cleared his throat. “Up here.”

  She knew damn well she was blushing, her cheeks warmed. Raising her stare, she met Callen in the eye. He towered over her, standing like a mythic god ready to pounce. Her sliver locket
dangled from his hand.

  She gasped and relinquished the cane, bringing her hands to her neck. “My heart.”

  Chapter Four

  The moment Miranda’s fingers slipped off the cane, Callen extended his hand, palm side up, and commanded the object to come to him.

  It flew from the ground, its wolf-head topper hitting his open palm. “Never let your guard down, Miss Kendrick.”

  She didn’t appear to be overly concerned about losing the item she’d just pinched from him. Her gaze remained fixed on the locket. “My heart’s aura is in there. Give it back.”

  “In time.”

  “It’s not yours.”

  “And I don’t want it. But I think it’s in your best interest not to wear it right now.”

  She didn’t look pleased. “I need it.”

  He crouched and eyed his sexy thief head on. The scent of honeysuckle filled his nose. “Who are you?”

  “Miranda Kendrick.”

  She was a verra good liar. “I mean your real name.”

  “I don’t know.”

  That could be the truth or it could be another lie. He wasn’t sure. “Why did you come to Wolfsden? And don’t tell me you’re here as a student working to steal artifacts for a private collector or for your professor. The student gig died when you went after my sword. No intern would have known what was hidden in the cane.”

  Miranda let out a deep breath and lowered her gaze. “I work for a sleazy two-bit gangster who steals things. Priceless things. From people he claims are his enemies.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  She hesitated. “I owe him. Besides, he’s a witch. Has powers that can change a person.”

  So his beautiful mate believed in magick. He wondered if she’d believe in him being a shifter. “Are you a witch?”

  “I’m not sure as I don’t remember my past. But I do believe people have abilities to do things, like how you just commanded your sword. Yet not everyone can move inanimate objects. That level of magick can only come naturally and most of us lose those abilities as we age because we get too caught up in the material world. But some of us do retain a portion of those powers. At least I know I do, though I don’t have proper command of them.”

  “How did you know about the sword?”

  “The witch told me. Though he didn’t know it was hiding in a walking stick. That I sensed on my own and with a little help from its biting wolf-head.” She checked her pinky as if looking for a mark.

  “Let me see your finger.”

  She gave him her hand.

  A spark of energy licked his skin as he touched Miranda’s flesh. He prayed to God the hex infused in his cursed blade hadn’t spread to his mate, if it did, he had no idea what would happen to her.

  Turning her hand for a better view, Callen inspected the pad of Miranda’s pinky and noted the impression of tiny wolf teeth marring the otherwise flawless flesh. A red tinge surrounded the bite. “I’m verra sorry the cane did not behave. But in all fairness, you shouldna have touched it.”

  “You should train your pets.”

  “It’s a magickal beast, not a dog.”

  “And here I thought it was like its feral master.”

  “You think me a dog?”

  “I don’t think you anything.”

  He ran his thumb over her pinky, sent his healing energy into her body.

  “Oh…” A pink blush crept into Miranda’s cheeks. She closed her eyes, licked her lips. “That feels so…”

  “Hush.” Callen smiled to himself. He might not have been with a woman in years, but he certainly hadn’t lost his touch. He leaned toward Miranda’s right ear. “A dog couldna do this.”

  Her breath hitched.

  Cal backed away, watched Miranda’s beautiful face as he massaged her finger, absorbed its pain into his own hand.

  A slight pant escaped his thief’s luscious mouth.

  Miranda’s eyes opened. “Your touch…it seeps right through me like some form of sensual magick. How did you do that?”

  He released her hand. “I’m no fool, Miss Kendrick. If you wish to learn my secrets, you’ll have to earn them first.”

  “Can you teach me to control my powers?”

  He couldna believe she was actually willing to learn from him. “I can teach you…a lot of things.” Reaching out, he ran his forefinger over her cheek and down to her chin. “You’re verra beautiful.”

  Miranda huffed. “You are such a typical guy and here I thought maybe you were different.” She pushed him away.

  Miss Kendrick was indeed a little spitfire. And he liked the notion. “You’ll master your powers in time.”

  “I doubt it. My magick is not as good as yours. It’s just average.”

  “Don’t convince yourself of that, Miranda. Your abilities are verra strong.” Sensing his sword inside the cane was a damn powerful talent. Miranda Kendrick was no typical witch. “So, you accept magick?”

  “To a degree, yes. I believe in prophetic dreams, spells, mind over matter. That sort of stuff. My boss has taught me a lot, exposed me to all sorts of unimaginable things. But not enough for me to master my own abilities. I don’t think he wants me to.”

  “I see. And does this miscreant have a name?”

  “Who he is doesn’t matter. Besides, you have your damn sword…cane…whatever the heck it is…back. Give me my locket and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  He smirked. She was not going to get off that easy. “You aren’t leaving Wolfsden until I say so.”

  “Great. Another wicked witch. Tell me, do you make a habit out of belittling women? Ordering them to do what you want or else?”

  “First, I’m no witch. Second, I’m doing this for your own good.”

  She shook her head as if she didna believe him.

  “Now, back to this miscreant. Does he have a name?”

  Miranda nodded, brought her stare level to his. “Jarle.”

  His stomach dropped. His mate was working for the man who had been his bane for a thousand years. It cudna be possible.

  Callen rose and stepped away from Miranda. He paced. The woman was obviously one of Jarle’s slaves, the bound heart proof of the witch’s claim over her. But her not knowing the reason behind her changing eye color or even not knowing her real name, if that statement was true, nagged at him. She also didn’t seem to realize just how powerful a witch she was. Which meant her raw magickal talent could easily be manipulated. And that could prove disastrous.

  Leaning on his cane, he scanned the area. Jarle’s minions could have been lurking about from the moment Miranda arrived at Wolfsden. He chided himself. He should have been more aware. “Did anyone follow you here?”

  “I don’t think so. Jarle doesn’t usually send more than one person on an assignment.”

  “We’re going inside.”

  “No, we’re not,” Miranda said. “My ass is staying right here until you return my locket.”

  He spun around, bent forward and grabbed her arm. “If you think I’d have my mate be put in danger, you’re sorely mistaken. Now get.”

  She was on her feet in a heartbeat. “Listen dude, I can accept the whole loving the castle lifestyle, I can even dismiss the wolf-at-every-turn design thing, but I am so not your mate.”

  He walked her to the front door.

  “I’d be insane to shack up with a guy like you.”

  He froze. “Why? What’s wrong with a guy like me?”

  “For starters, ordering a woman to do your bidding does not make a dude date material.”

  She might have a point there. “Go on.”

  “Second, you don’t bring up marriage…being your mate…on the first date.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were on a date.”

  “Even worse. We haven’t gotten that far and already you’re telling me I’m yours.”

  She did make the whole thing sound a bit desperate. But he was wolf. And MacHendrie wolves knew their mates the moment they smelled their scent. They also
protected them from that point forward. He didn’t see the point of all that sissy courting stuff. He was a man who believed time was precious and playing the dating game was only a waste. Mates were meant to be together whether they courted or not. But he had to admit, taking time to get to know Miranda did appeal to the human side of his soul. He especially liked the way those soft little moans escaped her mouth. Hearing them in his bed would be verra pleasing. Plus, he was certain he could comfort a hell of a lot more of her than merely her little finger, if he had the chance.

  A low growl rose in his throat.

  Damn his wolf. He did not want the animal in him coming out now. It would really turn Miranda away.

  He took a deep breath. Down boy.

  A second growl, a bit testier than the first, stirred his soul, but subsided.

  Good wolf.

  He glanced at Miranda and thanked his lucky stars she appeared to not have noticed the beast inside him. Keeping the animal tame while in the presence of his pretty little sword pincher was not going to be easy.

  A click echoed from inside the front hall.

  Miranda swung her head toward the open door. “Whoa. Now that’s what I call serious ammunition.”

  If he could have died that verra moment, he would have. “What in God’s name are you doing, Rhys?”

  “Protecting you.”

  “With a machine gun and enough silver bullets to fend off an entire pack of wolves?”

  “She stole your sword and we both know only one witch would be interested in that cursed blade.”

  “Is he talking about Jarle?”

  “Aye,” Callen said.

  Miranda turned and glared at him. “You know Jarle?”

  “It is a verra long story.”

  “Then you better find a way to shorten the tale because I want to know exactly what kind of shit I’ve landed in. Jarle’s enemies don’t usually have the means to defend themselves like the two of you have.”

  Callen eyed Rhys. “You can put the gun down. Miss Kendrick poses no threat.”

  Miranda agreed. “Yeah, Rambo. What he said.”

  It took a moment, but Rhys eventually relented. The firearm, along with the excessive cache of bullets, vanished.