The gargoyles amazed him the most, though. Traditionally, gargoyles were not part of any Scottish castle architecture that he knew of, and yet they were quite abundant here. Without examining them more closely, it was hard to tell if they had been added during any of the later renovations. With Declan’s love of the creatures, Ian suspected that the majority of them were added after Shadow Wood came into his possession. Whoever had constructed them had done a remarkable job of blending them into the old architecture.
“Who owned the castle before Declan?” he asked as they passed an old ruin that might have once been a barn. What remained of the structure was entangled with vines. The roof had long since crumbled, as well as one section of wall, giving a glimpse inside of rotted wood and tall weeds.
She shrugged. “Declan has always lived here.”
Ian nodded. “Right. Lord of the Netherworld. And he had horses?” He gestured toward the ruins.
“There haven’t been any horses here for quite some time, as you can tell,” she said, fiddling with a long straw of dried grass. “Shame. I like horseback riding. I took lessons for a few years while growing up. Do you ride, Ian?”
He laughed. “Not well.”
Sara stared out across the empty field, as though searching for someone. “Do you have family, Ian? Any brothers or sisters? We talked a little about my family, but you never mentioned yours.”
“I have a brother.”
They’d come to an area of the former pasture where a couple of the fence posts still stood. Sara walked to one of the weatherworn posts and leaned against it.
“There’s a reason Declan asked me to give you the tour of the grounds,” she said without taking her attention away from the trees.
“Oh?”
Here came another clue, he realized.
“We’re different, Ian. But so are you,” she said, her attention back on him.
“Yeah. I’m unique, just like everyone else.” He waited for her to laugh or smile, but her expression remained serious.
“I want you to know that what you’re about to see—well, I’ll explain everything.”
“Uh, sure,” he replied. Sara was a much better actress than the woman in the hallway. Sara seemed genuinely nervous.
She turned and gave a slight nod toward the grouping of trees she’d been staring at. A branch snapped, and a medium-size brown wolf emerged from the woods. It must have been standing there for a while, camouflaged among the autumn trees. The wolf took a few steps forward, paused, and eyed them cautiously, as if debating what to do next.
“Please tell me I’m not on the menu,” Ian joked. He eyed the castle. Too far to run. He hoped this wolf was well trained. There was no doubt that it was a wolf. Its legs were too long and its chest too narrow to be a husky or malamute. The eyes were too amber, the fur too thick and coarse for a domestic canine.
Sara groaned. “Mortals! Come on, Ian. I’m being serious here. Pay attention. Now, about my family. Remember I told you that I come from a fairly large one?” Sara pulled a backpack from the other side of the post where it had been hidden among the tall grass. She unzipped it, pulling out the contents—a woman’s pale-blue turtleneck sweater, black jeans, socks and boots, pink panties and matching bra. Then Sara motioned for the wolf. It trotted over to her and sat at her side. Sara lovingly stroked the animal’s shoulders.
Why did Sara need a change of clothing? Was she going to dress up the wolf? Huh. A Victoria’s Secret version of “Little Red Riding Hood”?
“You aren’t here by accident, Ian. And no, you’re not on the menu. But there are some things you need to see first in order to understand Shadow Wood. You’ve seen a ghost, but you doubt it was real. Do you believe in anything . . . else?”
The wolf’s eyes looked soulful. “Sure. Anything,” he said. “Whatever you want.”
Why not?
She rubbed his arm. “You’re tense. Relax. You write about this stuff all the time. Did it bother you then?”
“Not at all.” But words were just words. They couldn’t hurt you. As spindly as the word spider looked on the page with its p and d as legs and the s as a mandible, it would never be a tarantula. The word wouldn’t suddenly transform into a monstrous, hairy spider, scurry off the page, and attack the reader.
Sara waved him off. “Then relax.”
The wolf had started to pant heavily. It lowered its head and stretched out its neck, eyes focused forward, the whites showing. The animal trembled and lowered its head farther, its long, pink tongue hanging over its lower canines.
“I don’t think it’s feeling so well,” he whispered.
Sara looped her arm around his. Her voice was steady. “You’re about to witness a Change. I’m a werewolf. And this is my sister Eliza.”
How were they going to pull this off?
He glanced at Sara, then shifted his focus to the wolf again. Unbelievably, the snout started to shrink, and a hint of flesh began to emerge beneath the fading coat of fur.
This wasn’t a magic trick.
“Whoa!” Ian jumped backward. “What the hell?” His eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head. Sara glanced back and forth between him and the wolf.
Declan hadn’t been feeding him great ideas born of imagination. He’d been relating fact.
Impossible!
Ian had always written that a werewolf change was brutal and violent. Yet here, it reminded him of a metamorphosis—like that of a caterpillar into a butterfly. Every change blended gracefully into the next. There was no blood, no howling, just a gradual transformation to human form. Fur-covered leg became svelte limb, padded paw became human hand. The wolf-human wriggled its fingers as pointed ears receded from atop the head and the face became fuller, rounder. It shook its head, and long, brown hair flowed from its scalp like a river, cascading down the animal’s ever-shifting shoulders. Or were they still withers?
“No. No. Oh, this isn’t right.” Ian shook his head and put his hands in front of him as if they might shield him from the half-being. Werewolves. Real ones. No matter how he tried, it was difficult to wrap his head around that.
That was a real werewolf!
“It’s all right, Ian, really,” Sara said. Her voice sounded distant. She made an effort to touch him, and he backed away.
“It can’t be.” He staggered, nearly tripping over his feet in an attempt to flee from the scene before him. Recovering from his stumble, he saw that the creature’s fur had all but vanished. The back was now sleek and decidedly human, although the hindquarters and rib cage were still canine. The wolf-human stretched its rear legs, fluidly readjusting the way they bent.
“It’s perfectly natural,” Sara said calmly.
“Oh, yeah. You betcha. Maybe to you. Hell! Where did the tail go?” He wanted to stop watching, but his eyes were riveted to the animal—or human. Or whatever it was.
The tail had indeed vanished, giving way to perfectly rounded and smooth human skin—female without a doubt. The animal’s chest had reshaped to reveal firm breasts between human arms. Okay. Human. It was human now. She. She was human.
Sara took another step in his direction, but stopped when Ian tensed. How had he believed her to be as normal as the girl next door?
“Easy, Ian. I know it must look strange to you.”
“You think?” he shouted. “Oh, you think?”
Transformation complete, the wolf, who’d become human, female, and very naked, stared at Ian. He recognized her at once—she was the young woman he’d seen on the staircase with Sara the night of his arrival.
Eliza knelt, then rose to her feet. Her golden eyes were the only feature that betrayed her human form.
“You want to tell me about the hunting part again?” Ian sat in the study, drinking his second glass of Declan’s prized Scotch as Sara, Eliza, Declan, and Von Hiller watched. Everyone except Declan seemed concerned about his mental state. HA! They were worried about him!
With trembling hands, he downed the drink. Not
bad for eleven thirty in the morning. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or shock causing his hands to shake.
He looked at his empty glass, wishing he could just take the whole bottle of Macallan back to his room. He’d like to say his fear was all about Sara and the werewolf thing. But what scared him most was that somewhere deep inside, he was enjoying this. It was scary, but cool. He wrote about this stuff because he enjoyed it. It was like walking into a haunted house. You wanted to be scared. But Shadow Wood wasn’t so much a haunted house as a sanctuary for the stuff of nightmares. Declan hadn’t been playing him. This wasn’t an elaborate hoax for his benefit.
Now this was great writing material! As long as he didn’t end up on the menu.
“Like we said,” Sara told him, “you’re safe with us.”
“We don’t hunt humans. Well, rarely,” Eliza added.
Ian offered his empty glass to Von Hiller. “That’s, um, comforting.”
Von Hiller moved to the sideboard slowly, as though any quick movement might send their human guest into another freak-out.
Yeah, watch out for the crazy mortal, Ian thought. Speak softly and move slowly so as not to upset him. Who knows what he’ll do. Oh, just frickin’ perfect. They were worried about him and what he’d do.
Clearly aware of his nervousness, Sara kept rubbing her palms together and pausing to choose the right thing to say. He appreciated her concern. How exactly did you drop this kind of news without people running off screaming in search of a rifle and silver bullets?
“Hunting humans is rare.” Sara paused and must have realized what he wanted to hear. “There have been a few isolated instances, but rest assured they are just that—isolated and provoked. You don’t taste very good. We hunt animals—typical prey for most wolves. Deer and rabbit are most common.”
Ian had watched enough nature shows to understand what wolves ate, and how. Still, her explanation did nothing to give him the warm fuzzies. Werewolves weren’t Labrador puppies.
“When we change into wolves, we’re just that—wolves, so most everything about wolf nature applies.”
Really? he thought. How silly of him to think they’d change and whip out a grill, some charcoal, and a six-pack.
Ian wondered what these people did for a living—when they weren’t howling at the moon and feasting on entrails. He remembered the group sitting at one of the tables during breakfast—the man who had his arm bandaged and the woman who looked like she’d gone a few rounds with a heavyweight boxer.
These guys hadn’t been hunting bunnies and deer last night. He didn’t care what Sara said. And the ghost. The ghost had been real.
Declan leaned forward in his chair. “Shadow Wood is more than my home, Ian. It is indeed a sanctuary. It’s a safe haven for all things supernatural. And you are here for a very important reason.”
“Does it have to do with werewolves or the ghost?” Ian asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“The reason you’re here has more to do with the ghost. We just thought it was important to come clean about the hunts and what you saw yesterday. We don’t want to keep any secrets from you, Ian,” Sara said.
Von Hiller handed him another drink.
“To be precise,” Declan said, “the reason you are here has everything to do with the woman you saw in the hall.”
Ian took another healthy swig.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kate
Kate glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Michael would be here any minute. She looked at her indigo-blue gown once more, wondering if it might send the wrong signals. She’d purchased it before she and Michael had split, and especially for this occasion. The Valentino was both classy and sexy. It was backless, draped across her hips perfectly, and the uneven hem just above her knees drew attention to her long legs.
With one final wardrobe check in the mirror, she grabbed her matching evening clutch and headed downstairs. The security panel chimed, letting her know someone had just driven through the front gate. Glancing at the video panel, Kate saw Michael’s red Porsche. She frowned. While Michael had returned the house key, she’d forgotten to change the gate code.
Kate waited a moment or two, giving Michael time to park and make his way up the walk. She decided not to mention the gate code. She’d change it later. He was about to ring the bell when she opened the door.
Michael stepped back to check her out and stared a bit too long. “Kate . . . you’re stunning as always.”
She managed a nervous smile. “Thanks. You look nice, too.”
He did, as usual. Michael’s dark hair had a slight touch of silver in it, giving him a more sophisticated look. “We need to get going.” Kate stepped toward the door.
Michael didn’t move. He leaned in to kiss her, and she turned her head and put a hand against him.
Not this again. It was beyond uncomfortable. Now it was just frustrating.
As she attempted to go around him, Michael grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him. “You’re still angry with me. Don’t be. I was weak, Kate. Stupid, too. Come on. You’ve been mad at me for far too long now.”
Kate jerked her hand free, her eyes meeting his and daring him to grab her again. “We’ve been over this. Let’s just get through tonight.” Kate stepped past him, leaving him no choice but to follow.
Without another word, Michael escorted her to the Porsche. He opened the door for her, waiting until she was seated before closing it and going around to the driver’s side. Kate regretted letting him rope her into this. It’d be a long car ride with Michael either seducing or sulking. Kate was betting on the former. Over the past few years, as Michael’s fame had grown, so had his ego. He wasn’t the same person. Of course, neither was she.
“I’m looking forward to dinner,” she said as they pulled out of the driveway, trying her best at small talk. “I didn’t eat much today.”
Silence. He wasn’t going to make this easy.
Kate looked out the side window. “Shirley called. She’s sending me a couple of scripts. One would require filming in Europe for a few months.”
“Good. I’m glad things are still going well for you,” Michael said with a sigh. “Shirley is one hell of an agent. So far, my agent has nothing.”
Kate realized her choice of topic probably wasn’t the best, but it beat talking about their failed relationship, Shadow Wood, the gargoyles.
Or Ian.
All work and no play makes Kate a poor conversationalist, she thought.
“It’ll come, Michael. Just be patient. You’re a talented actor. You know that.” Hopefully flattery still worked with him.
“Not without you, apparently,” he shot back.
So this was it. The biggest reason he wanted her back in his life—his career. She’d had enough. “Michael, you wanted me to show up with you tonight? Fine. I’m here. But we’re not talking about this again.”
He forced a smile and reached over to pat her hand as they came to a stoplight. “Whatever you say, Kate. But you’re going to have to give me another chance sometime. I won’t stop apologizing or chasing you until you do. We were so good together. I want that back. I still love you.”
Michael gazed at her intently, and she turned toward the window again. Nothing she said or did would make any difference. He wasn’t hearing her. Had she ever really loved him? He was wrong about her. Wrong in more ways than he could imagine. Had he ever understood her, or had he seen only what he wanted? She resigned herself to a very quiet car ride.
“That’s my girl,” Michael said, mistaking her resignation for consideration. If she’d argued with him, he’d have taken it the same way. “Just think it over.”
Dominick’s was the Italian restaurant in town. Aside from the to-die-for desserts and heavenly food, it boasted dark wood columns, gold and burgundy accents, large potted greenery, and old black-and-white photos for an upscale thirties style that even Al Capone would have enjoyed. But best of all, it smelled of basil, oregano, simmering sauces, and fre
sh garlic bread. Kate had eaten slightly smaller portions of food for the past couple of days in anticipation of tonight’s dinner.
The entire restaurant had been booked with cast, crew, family, and a handful of other attendees, including Kate’s agent, Shirley. If it hadn’t been for all of Shirley’s hard work, Kate wouldn’t be where she was today. It had been Shirley who had helped her land a music video spot that ended up getting her noticed enough for a part in another movie and, finally, Dark Fall. Shirley was tough and even more determined than Kate. Kate aspired to have her agent’s wit and fierce business sense when she reached the height of her career.
“Kate! Michael!” Shirley made her way toward them, taking notice that they had arrived together. She gave Kate a delicate hug. “Are you two—”
“No,” Kate replied. “We’re not.”
Michael shrugged. “She’s still thinking on it, but she’ll have to come around sooner or later, right?”
Kate mouthed to Shirley, Save me!
“Everyone is already seated and asking about you,” Shirley said, pulling Kate away. “And we really do need to talk about those scripts.”
Kate followed her, leaving Michael to trail behind them. She spotted the executive producer, Dan, and a few of her costars. A steward seated Kate and her agent and showed Michael to his place next to Kate. The room bustled with waitstaff.
After all the initial greetings, Shirley, ever the dutiful agent, leaned toward Kate. “You seem stressed. I know all this . . .” She glanced at Michael. “This business has been taxing. Working on something new would be the best thing for you. If these scripts don’t work, I know of another one that’ll take you out of the country for almost the whole shoot.”
“You were telling me about that one,” Kate replied. “It sounds interesting. I’d love to see it.”
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