by Vivian Arend
Damon sauntered forward, taking in the flowers and the neat garden area. The scent of shifter greeted him as well, and he smiled.
Highland Tigers, and now foxes, or some combination thereof.
“Are you lost?” the man asked, eyeing Damon’s bare feet and clothing, but he didn’t look judgmental. Just smiled and spoke hospitably. “If you’ve gotten turned around, I can get you back to the manor.”
“You work here?”
He nodded, brushing the dirt from his hand on one thigh before extending it to Damon. “Glenn Chappie. I’m in charge of the gardens and lawns. My grandmam is the cook at the manor. If you’d like to come in for a cuppa, we’ll be heading over in a bit. You can walk with us.”
Damon didn’t bother to explain he wasn’t lost. Instead, he admired the neat little village and the obvious signs of Glenn’s green thumb. “Does everyone who lives here work for the Sterling-Wyldes?”
Glenn opened the door to the cottage and called in a warning. “Grandmam. We have a guest.” He turned back to Damon to motion him in. “All of us in the holding do, yes. Some have been employed for generations, helping care for the manor. Years ago more servants worked and lived on-site.”
Damon stepped through the door into the presence of a petite fox-shifter bent nearly double with age. Only when he looked into her eyes, they were bright and shining, clear as starlight. She was as close as foxes got to an Alpha, he suspected. Not up to his caliber, but powerful in her own way. She looked him over for a good long time, Glenn standing at her side, and his wolf stirred. Damon moved cautiously, not wanting to frighten either of them.
She wasn’t afraid. She fixed him in place like his father had when he’d been young and in trouble. “Are ye the one who caused all the ruckus at the manor yesterday?” she demanded.
“Possibly?” he admitted, highly entertained by her careful enunciation. There was a bit of broad Scots in her voice, but she was easy to understand. “You’re the one responsible for the delicious food in the pantry.”
She nodded, beaming at his compliment. “You’ll be staying, then. You’ll let me know some of your favourites, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Glenn whistled lightly in appreciation, patting Damon on the back as he stepped past. “Clever devil. How did you get on her good side so quickly?”
Grandmam reached out her age-worn fingers and, with the cockiness of a woman who knows exactly how esteemed she is, pinched Damon’s cheek. “He’s a good lad. Strong, and eager to do what’s right.”
Damon wasn’t sure he wanted such glowing accolades pointed in his direction, but she just gave him another approving nod then filled plates for him and Glenn. They sat at the small table as the sun rose and the day officially began, chatting all the while about the goings-on at the manor.
Damon listened with interest, keeping an eye on the clock on the wall to make sure he got back to the manor in time to escort Addie safely to work.
It was still early when they’d cleaned up and headed across the wide green expanse toward the Sterling-Wylde keep. Grandmam leaned on the arm of an old man Damon remembered seeing pacing the halls, some kind of glorified butler.
“A warning.” Glenn spoke privately as he kept an eye on the two walking ahead of them. “You caught Grandmam in one of her more lucid moments. If the next time you bump into her she doesn’t remember you, don’t take it personally.”
Ahhh. “Alzheimer’s? Or just old age?”
“Nothing that’s been diagnosed, and she’s not in any danger, but she forgets people. Forgets the connections.” Glenn pulled out his wallet and showed the pictures he carried with him. “When I need to, I use these to nudge her memory. She remembers every recipe she ever learned, but sometimes she calls me Roger, which was my father’s name. And sometimes she thinks I’m a guest visiting during the heyday of the early 1930s.”
“She’s seen a lot of history,” Damon said. “Don’t worry. I’ll treat her with the respect she clearly deserves. I think it’s wonderful she still gets to work at the manor.”
Glenn made a rude noise. “At least until the will is settled. At that point, we’ll all be turned out on our ears, no matter which one of the sons inherits.”
Damon stuttered to a halt, ready to ask questions, when it struck him. “Alastair wants to burn everything to the ground. Niall wants to turn the place into a high-class retreat—and neither of those call for an old woman and her family to continue to work in the place they’ve lived their entire lives.”
The gardener shrugged as he acknowledged Damon’s guess. “In some ways I agree with Alastair. It might hurt less to simply have the place gone than to have to see other people running our home.”
They were at a fork in the path, and Damon paused. “There’s something I want to check before I go in, but it was good to meet you.”
Glenn tipped his hat and offered a toothy smile. “Good to meet you too. Anyone Grandmam likes is a quality person.”
He took his leave, catching up with the rest of the crowd strolling toward the manor.
Damon turned in the opposite direction into the small castle-like structure with a gated wall stretching over the path. He drifted along, and his wolf—hallelujah!—snuck out of hiding as he explored the watchtower.
He’d felt off balance with the beast completely out of reach.
The stone citadel wasn’t used any longer, but it was in decent shape, and he climbed the spiral staircase to the top, gazing out the window across to the room in the turret where he’d spent the night with Addie.
Something rumbled inside, and it wasn’t his stomach. No, it was anticipation on his wolf’s part. He wanted to see her again.
Damn beast was going to drive him mad.
“Make up your bloody mind,” he muttered at…well, at himself. “You’re the one who took off, not me,” he reminded his wolf. “No scaring her, remember?”
His wolf sniffed in disdain as if it were tired of trying to explain a concept as convoluted as quantum physics to a three-year-old.
Damon took the stairs down two at a time, jerking to a halt at a shadow moving in his peripheral vision. His wolf perked up its ears as he breathed in, the scent of cat triggering the instinct to track and hunt.
Another large striped house cat darted from behind the rock wall, and Damon grinned. One of the local mousers must live in the watchtower. He trailed it until it vanished. One second it was there, the next it was gone, and it took Damon actually running his hand over the wall to find the optical illusion—a rock pillar set narrowly away from the main wall that covered the entrance to a smooth tunnel heading downward and toward the manor.
She knew what a coward looked like.
Addie paced the hallway and ignored the telltale signs of her uneasy sleep that were far too visible in the mirrors she passed on the way to the parlor.
She was grateful Damon had been gone when she dragged her carcass from the bed. She’d spent the entire evening refusing to admit her attraction to the mischievous shifter.
Slipping into her wolf form and putting a barrier between them wasn’t wrong. It just wasn’t what she really wanted, and taking the easy way out made her mad for so many reasons.
Sex had become complicated. She wasn’t an Omega wolf—not a full one—but she’d inherited an empathetic talent from her dual Omega parents. Over the years that gift had gone haywire, until the past months, when she touched others, she found herself drowning in emotion. Their emotions.
It made being intimate difficult, to say the least.
It didn’t make the fact she ached to get up close and personal with Damon any less real. It did make the depth of her desire that much more mysterious.
She was distracted enough with her thoughts that she was all the way into the smoking room before she froze, pivoting slowly at the eerie sensation between her shoulder blades. That feeling she was being watched was back in full force. If she’d discovered Alastair perched on the top of a bookcase, she wouldn’t have been su
rprised.
Creeped out, but not surprised.
Only there was no Highland Tiger. And no Damon, although she expected he’d show up eventually. Addie did a single loop through the room, sniffing to find a hint of something that would justify her discomfort. But while she scented the boys, Damon and herself, all of the scents were older and mingled together.
Clearly her lack of sleep was causing paranoia.
She turned back to face the door, standing at the edge of the fireplace as she prepared to start work for the day.
The faintest of creaks sounded. She reached down without looking, picked up the wrought-iron poker from beside the fireplace, and spun with full force toward the intruder suddenly standing behind her.
A flash of blond hair was all she saw before her assailant ducked, the poker continuing on to strike the heavy bricks of the fireplace. The sharpened side point dug in, capturing her weapon and rendering it useless.
“Stop—”
She kept twirling, letting go of the poker but clenching her fists together until she made contact with a solid male jaw. And then she was falling, with a stranger’s hands gripping her wrists, her body twisting as he took her down with him.
A moment later they hit the ground with her on top, impact knocking a grunt from them both. Addie found herself rolled to the carpet, her hands pinned to the floor by an ironclad grasp. A much heavier body over hers made it impossible to move.
“—Addie. It’s me, Damon.”
It had only been seconds. She gazed up into sky-blue eyes, and suddenly her rapid heartbeat wasn’t from the adrenaline rush, or fear. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she found herself holding her breath. Waiting. Wanting.
His eyes shimmered, a hint of his wolf’s silver colouring visible before vanishing completely, but as confusing as that was, she was more focused on the connection between them. On the heavy weight of his hips, on his muscular thighs pushing between hers. On the thickening length of his erection pressing against her belly.
She expected to be bombarded with an emotional overload from him, but the only thing attacking her system was sheer outright lust. And given the strange circumstances, she wasn’t about to look the gift wolf in the mouth.
Damon swore softly then met her halfway as they both dove into a kiss marked by more enthusiasm than finesse.
Their lack of restraint didn’t make it messy, just made it real. The shifter on top of her had some mad skills, and he used every one of them. Teeth—just enough to set her squirming. Tongue—an enticing promise of how well he could use that talented appendage on other parts of her at a later point. Lips—possessive, yet soft. He set her wrists free, moving to explore her body. Twisting to the side as he skimmed a hand over her lower back and rolled, draping her over his whip-hard body.
His caresses felt amazing, and not nearly enough. He slid a hand under her pants to cup her ass while she discovered both her palms were nestled against his muscular chest. Caution bells went off, the kind that warned if they went beyond this point, they couldn’t turn back.
Even though the usual overwhelming rush of emotion wasn’t there, she had to stop them. It would be far better to call quits now than if her shitty situation reverted to normal, and she lost control like usual, maybe when he was inside her.
Because that would go over oh-so-well.
Lust was one thing, but people’s emotions were tricky things. It was never just lust. Never just passion…
She wrenched their mouths apart, her wolf mourning the loss, and a sad whimper escaped her human lips. She agreed with her other half. The last thing she wanted right now was to stop.
The instant she pulled away Damon responded, jerking his hands off her as she sat up, straddling his lean hips. He stared wide-eyed as her breathing stuttered like air driven from a billow.
His upper body shook, his pulse beat rapidly in his neck, and oh God, she wanted to lean down and put her teeth into him. Sink in and bite him, hard, mark him, and though she knew she couldn’t—mustn’t—the urge grew stronger.
The hunger in his eyes was clear, and her body ached for them to continue what they’d started, but she had to take control. Had to do the right thing.
“I need a notebook,” she blurted out. “There are extras in the storage off the music room. Main floor, north of the dining hall.”
A crease formed between his brows, but he nodded and pulled himself back from the brink. He stroked his knuckles briefly over her cheek before extracting himself from under her and leaping to his feet. “I can get that for you. I’ll be right back.”
He was out of the room, the door swinging closed with a loud snap as she took a deep breath and worked to settle herself.
She glanced between the opening beside the fireplace and the closed door Damon had vanished behind. Missing wills and secret passages. She had the most intriguing job ever, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world, but this thing with Damon was a snag she hadn’t expected.
She examined the hinges on the secret door, working the locking mechanism until she could reopen it at will from both sides. Then she closed it firmly, wishing she could just as easily close off the wash of emotion and desire still rushing through her veins.
Chapter Five
Thirty minutes later, she still hadn’t started her day. It was impossible to get anything done. Every time she opened her iPad to add information, the memory of being in Damon’s arms would repeat itself and she’d lose all focus.
She found herself seated behind the old lord’s desk, staring into space as she daydreamed about Damon’s touch, analyzing it for more than what it had done to her body, although, holy moly, she had a few thoughts about that topic alone. Her belly still quivered—
Liar.
Okay, fine, she admitted to herself, a touch lower than her belly was where she ached, and if she kept thinking about him for much longer, she’d have a hand between her legs in no time flat to deal with the longings he’d triggered.
No, she had to consider what the kiss hadn’t done to her. She’d expected to be overwhelmed with emotion. Should have been. Was it just him, or them, or something else altogether?
A glimmer of hope rose. Maybe she was outgrowing the backlash. Or if the exception to the rule was unique to Damon, that could still work in their favour. If she could touch him without negative repercussions, they could enjoy each other’s company in the coming days.
Addie let out a slow breath. She craved touch. The past year because of her gift, she hadn’t been able to partake in any physical pleasure the way she’d wanted.
She forced herself to get up and start on her next task only because she didn’t want to be sitting there like a love-struck, teenaged groupie when Damon returned from his made-up task.
One thing the brief pause had done, though, was let her make a decision. She wasn’t ready to jump in with both feet. She was ready to shake the tree a few more times and see what fell out. If she did a little cautious touching and had no bad reactions…
The idea might backfire, but it was a whole lot better than her other options. Continuing to say no outright was not enjoyable, but having to stop them again after getting his motor running—nope, slow and steady was the only way to deal with it. Especially since there was potentially a sweet reward in the end.
That decided, she got back to work, an unexpected buzz of energy in her veins as she turned to a new section of the bookcase.
The door opened, and she turned with a happy smile toward Damon, freezing when Niall entered instead, his robes swaying as he moved.
“Can I help you?” she asked warily, eyeing the door behind him. He’d pushed it, but not hard enough, and now it stood open a few inches.
“Possibly.” He raised a brow. “Have you found any keys while you’ve been working?”
He paced closer as he spoke, and Addie ducked away, putting the desk between them as she pretended to consider. She pressed a finger against her lips and glanced skyward before remembering that was a giveaw
ay tell for a lie.
She met his gaze straight on and nodded. “I remember. There are some in the kitchen, and in the garden shed, and I believe—”
“None of those. I need the keys for the anteroom off my father’s chambers. His valet insists he can’t remember where he put the spare, and I don’t want to tear down the wall if I can avoid it.”
He spoke with a smile, as if trying to charm her. Maybe someone else would find him attractive, but all she could do was compare him and his brother to Damon and find them wanting. Niall’s long hair and elaborate purple robes seemed formal and yet cheesy; Alastair’s expensive suits were pretty, but he was stiff and boring. Damon’s lighthearted acceptance of the borrowed kilts made him look like a swashbuckling hero, his strong body a plaid-wrapped present.
Addie hurried to refocus. “Of course. I would expect you’d—”
Niall cut her off again, stepping closer and reaching past her to the bookcase at her back. Unless she wanted to make a big deal out of it and crawl across the desktop to get away from him, she was stuck as he pulled forward a small cigar box, holding it between them. “Have you looked in here yet?” he asked, whispering the words.
Were…? Were his eyelashes fluttering at her?
Ick.
“No. I like to work the perimeter of each room. I’m actually on that bookcase over there.”
She pointed and attempted to dodge around him, but he blocked her way, the scent of cat making her nose twitch.
Niall made a noise deep in his throat as he looked her over. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
“I have a boyfriend,” she squeaked, pissed that her words escaped so wimpily, but he’d caught hold of her hand, and in that instant, she’d been deluged.
Her gift? Not gone. Not gone at all.
Anger at his brother. Lust for her. Dirty urges, evil thoughts and cruel memories swamped her. It was as if a bucketful of every horrid, putrid emotion Niall had ever felt had been dumped on her head. She couldn’t fight back or run from the room. Instead, all her energy was consumed by the urgent need to stay vertical and not fall to the ground unconscious.
