by Jan Delima
“You’re accepting the news better than expected,” he said dryly.
Her smile faded when turned upon him. “I had already accepted the possibility when I called you.”
Of course she had, he thought bitterly, or else she would never have made that call.
Nine
RHUDDIN HALL WAS A FORTRESS OF FIELDSTONE AND iron, with four long rectangular buildings enclosing the main house and central courtyard. The roof held a catwalk around the perimeter connecting the outer buildings, with watchtowers in all four corners.
No one was allowed admittance or departure without Dylan’s permission.
And the guards were good.
Sophie knew this firsthand.
With Joshua by her side, she followed Dylan and Elen up the cobblestone drive. Each step took conscious effort. She felt laden with knowledge, overwhelmed by information.
Their earlier words disturbed her mind and challenged her convictions.
You’ll live much longer than you’ve assumed.
The sooner you accept that you’re a part of my world, the easier it will be for you to accept your fate.
Joshua is powerful enough to shift into the wolf. Are you strong enough to handle that?
She couldn’t think of the last, not yet. Not without losing what little composure she had left. Despite her misgivings, she’d been given a small view into Dylan’s world. Her mind wanted to reject that knowledge but it explained too much about his behavior.
There are others of my kind who will eliminate any threats to our race.
She began to understand his motives. She also understood that her son was a part of his father, and therefore a part of his world. If she wanted to remain in Joshua’s life, she needed to conform to Dylan’s terms.
The very thought went up her ass sideways.
The sound of hushed voices and curious whispers pulled Sophie away from her morose meanderings. She lifted her eyes toward the evening sky. Gas lanterns encased in wrought iron cages hung above the second-floor windows, casting an eerie light along the stone façade. Along the catwalk there stood over a hundred shadowed faces, all looking down on her with unguarded resentment.
Raw human emotion on perfect human faces. One would never know the secret they protected, until it was too late.
She felt a warm hand on her back, comforting, strong—and not her son’s. Joshua would have nudged her or crowded her. He would not have stroked her back with a steady hand.
“Ignore them,” Dylan whispered next to her ear, gently ushering her forward. “They’re just curious.”
“Okay,” Joshua said under his breath, “I have to agree with Mom here. That’s a little creepy.”
Dylan frowned but didn’t comment. The front building housed most of the guards; in the center was a silver gate wide enough for a large vehicle to drive through. Dylan nodded to a female guard Sophie knew as Taran.
Siân’s sister.
Golden eyes fell on Joshua with a somber expression, then quickly narrowed in on Sophie. “She’s carrying weapons.”
Sophie lifted her chin, not surprised by the woman’s accurate assumption. “I’ll not enter this place unarmed. And I’ll not allow my son to go in without me . . . as long as there are people here who mean him harm.”
Taran sneered as the insult registered. “You’ll do whatever our leader tells you to do.”
“Leave it alone, Taran,” Dylan ordered with displeasure heavy in his voice, directed more toward Sophie than the woman guard, who was simply performing her assigned duty. “I would have removed Sophie’s weapons before we arrived, if it had been my inclination to do so.”
“You might have tried,” Sophie said quietly, an automatic response to his threat, one she regretted a moment later. Thankfully, Dylan chose not to call her challenge but he gave her an odd look, as if just realizing the woman he had once known as his wife no longer existed.
A scowl marred Taran’s features as she retracted the gate inside the stone walls without further comment.
Joshua lifted his head toward the sky as they walked through the stone archway, his eyes drawn to the gathering crowd above. “Do they all live here?”
“Most have homes in the village,” Elen said.
“Then why are they here?”
“To meet you.” Dylan led them through the gardens in the courtyard; the perennial beds were cut to the ground, waiting for new growth to emerge. He went around to the side of the main building and opened the kitchen door.
As they entered, Enid leaned against the center island with her arms crossed in front of her chest, like a general guarding her domain against an intruding force. She was a stout woman with reddish-brown hair and flushed cheeks. Her lips thinned downward with disapproval.
As other members of the house filled the room, Enid glared at Sophie without comment, then turned her sharp gaze on Joshua. There was an odd expression on her face. Sophie might have called it remorse if she thought the woman capable of such an emotion.
“Joshua,” Dylan said, breaking the hushed silence, “this is Enid, a dear friend.” He waved his hand around the room, listing off names of huddled faces. “Everyone,” he announced with pride, “my son.”
“Hello.” Joshua looked about the room with wide eyes.
Enid gave him a lowered nod. “You’ll learn all our names in time. I hope you enjoy the dinner we’ve prepared for you. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” His favorite answer to that particular question.
Enid shooed everyone away. “Then go have a seat in the dining hall and we’ll be right in with the first course.” Her voice was cheerful.
The sidelong glare she shot in Sophie’s direction was not.
Sophie kept her shoulders squared as she weaved through the crowded kitchen. She recognized most of the faces staring back at her. Their nodded greetings did little to relieve her apprehension; they had always been nice to her in front of Dylan.
It was the other times that concerned her, when Dylan wasn’t watching.
The dining hall had not changed. It was a gothic affair of formality, with torch sconces, dark oak floors, stone walls, mounted swords and large tapestries.
Luc was seated at one end of the long table with five other empty place settings around him. Sophie gave an inward sigh of relief that Dylan had thought to make this a small gathering.
Luc stood as Dylan waved Joshua forward. With long black hair and features too harsh to be handsome, he formed an intimidating presence. His eyes were light silver circled in navy, liquid mercury on ice, an eerie contrast against his dark skin.
With her new perspective, Sophie recognized the Egyptian heritage in Luc more than in his siblings. Although, in her opinion, Dylan’s features were just as unusual, with thick blond hair, golden skin, and black eyes that followed her every move.
“Sister,” Luc greeted Elen as she entered the room, pulling out the chair next to his.
Elen accepted her brother’s assistance with tight-lipped annoyance. She was the only sibling who hadn’t inherited any dark traits, except for her current expression.
All three, without question, were the purest combination of ancient races.
Perhaps sensing Joshua’s unease, Dylan stepped forward. “My son,” he said to his brother. “Joshua, this is your uncle Luc.”
Luc held out his hand. “Welcome home, nephew.”
“Thank you.” Joshua shook his hand.
“Sophie,” Luc acknowledged with a sharp nod. “Glad you finally came to your senses and brought our boy home.”
She was not offended by his blunt tone. She had expected worse. “Hello, Luc.”
Luc assessed Joshua with the eye of a warrior. “I train the children of the village for”—he shot a glare in Sophie’s direction, changing his tone and modifying his words—“in defensive fighting techniques. I have a session tomorrow afternoon. You’re welcome to come and watch.”
“I’d rather help,” Joshua said.
Luc snorted at the cocky repl
y, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “Can you defend yourself, nephew?”
“Yes,” Joshua said with confidence.
Luc’s eyebrows raised in challenge. “With weapons?”
“With anything you put in front of me.” He shrugged. “Or with nothing.”
That gained Luc’s attention. The edge of humor left his voice. “We’ll see. Tomorrow morning then, around eight, you can show me what you know.”
“Sure. Where?”
“The courtyard.”
“No,” Dylan interrupted, “not the courtyard. You can spar at the lake house. I’ll be there as well.”
Luc nodded. “I’m good with that.”
“Me too,” Joshua answered, showing no sign of concern. On the contrary, he looked excited at the prospect of sparring with his uncle.
Lord help me, Sophie thought as she took a seat next to Joshua, across from Elen and Luc, while Dylan sat at the head. Not long after, Enid marched into the room, serving their first course, gray sausage links and wilted greens, possibly European sorrel smothered in a sour white sauce.
It smelled like fermented meat and had the consistency of lake slime. The poor animal that had sacrificed its life for the sausage was a mystery. Pig, perhaps. Or its tendrils.
“This was your mother’s favorite dish.” Dylan watched Joshua push a link around his plate with a three-pronged golden fork. “It always surprised me that she enjoyed this. I never favored it much myself.”
Sophie stared down at her own plate and tried not to gag.
Joshua shot her a sidelong glance, knowing full well the predicament she was in. As a lesson on the consequences of withholding information, she had shared with him a few of Enid’s creative past torments—like serving unpalatable food.
Joshua’s shoulders began to shake. He was laughing, the little shit. She tried not to join in, but laughter, embarrassingly enough, was more infectious when denied, and even worse in uncomfortable situations.
“Did I miss something?” Elen asked.
Joshua stifled a sound, half snort, half giggle. And it triggered the end of Sophie’s restraint. She burst out laughing, pulling the napkin up to hide her face.
Luc and Dylan frowned at each other. Elen looked annoyed.
And that just made it worse.
“I’m sorry,” Sophie coughed out, feeling her face turn hot with embarrassment.
Enid had gone completely still, glaring at Sophie over Dylan’s head. In the past, Sophie had always taken her little attacks in silence.
Dylan spoke to Joshua, aggravation clear in his tone. “May I ask what you’ve found so amusing?”
His father’s disapproval silenced his antics. He turned toward her, his gaze searching for permission to break her confidence.
She gave him a nod. “It’s okay.”
“Mom hates this dish,” Joshua admitted. “It used to make her puke every time she ate it.”
Dylan’s dark eyes landed on Sophie, quieting her giggles. “Then why did you keep asking Enid to make it for you?”
Sophie ignored Enid’s glare. “I didn’t.”
“Liar,” Enid sneered. “Dylan, she’s a liar.”
Sophie said calmly, “Enid knew the effect this dish had on me. In fact, I think she enjoyed it.”
“And yet you never told me.” Dylan’s tone had gone dangerously low. “Why?”
Enid started shaking her head; her voice turned frantic. “You can’t believe anything this woman says.”
Dylan held up his hand. His stance, even while seated, emanated power. He spoke in a language Sophie didn’t recognize, nor had she ever heard it from him; it was the same dialect as Elen’s first words after examining Joshua. It had to be their original tongue, an early version of Welsh.
It was a strong dialect, almost guttural, and more than a tad foreboding when spoken in anger.
Enid turned away, her head lowered in submission.
Dylan’s dark eyes turned to Sophie, his anger controlled but still present. “Please answer the question.”
It was the “please” that softened her answer. “I never told you because I was young and stupid and wanted your friends and family to like me. I thought that by keeping silent they would learn to trust me. I now realize what a foolish notion that was and no longer care if they like me or not.” Sophie smiled, and she knew it wasn’t a nice smile. “But hear me now, Enid.” She waited for the woman to look up. “And be sure to pass this information along to all your cohorts in crime—I am not the same woman you once knew, and if anyone treats my son as I was treated when I lived here, they will regret it.”
Enid took a step back, frowning at Sophie’s changed behavior.
Joshua spoke up at that point, voicing his own agenda. “I don’t have to eat this, do I?”
Sophie patted him on his arm. “I want you to try it. If it’s not to your liking, then no, you don’t have to eat it.”
He leaned over and whispered, “Will you make me a pizza later?”
“Mac and cheese,” Sophie offered back.
“Homemade?”
“Sure.”
“Deal.” He took a bite; his swallow was visibly forced. With flared nostrils and a sad shake of the head, he announced, “I don’t like it.”
“Enid,” Dylan said, his voice heavy with displeasure, “clear our plates and bring the next course.”
Ten
NIGHT HAD SETTLED INTO FULL DARKNESS DURING THEIR time at his home. From the warmth of his truck, Dylan watched his wife linger on the porch after he dropped off her and Joshua at the lake house. The porch light pinched her drawn features in harsh shadows, yet there was a resolute quality to her stance; despite her obvious exhaustion, she was waiting for him to leave before entering the house.
As her early vow had promised, this was not the same woman he had once known, a woman who had danced in the rain just to make him laugh. That woman had abhorred weapons and would never have kept them on her person.
This woman was stronger, mature . . . defensive—wiser in her instincts to fear her surroundings, to fear him.
Her loss of innocence saddened the man, but her quiet strength pleased his beast. And the way she had cared for their son, protected him with boldness akin to a mother wolf . . .
That more than pleased him. His blood ran hot and hard through his veins, straight to neglected areas long overdue for attention.
Before his need overruled his good judgment, Dylan shoved his truck in reverse and pulled out of the dirt driveway, angry that his family was in one place while he drove to another.
He had wanted an invitation to join them.
He was a damned fool.
Punching the gas, he headed straight for Rhuddin Hall with unpleasant matters to deal with. Taran nodded as he drove through the gate; her golden eyes refused to meet his, a warning that didn’t bode well. Unfortunately, he had a lesser incident to deal with before confronting Sophie’s accusations against Siân.
Dylan parked next to the main house; he found Enid in the kitchen, surrounded by her daughters, Lydia and Sulwen. The room reeked of fear and hostility; fear from the daughters, hostility from Enid.
“Enid,” he ordered, not inclined to defuse their apprehension, “follow me to my office.”
She took her time wiping the remaining dish before falling in behind him, a final defiance from an old stubborn pagan. Lydia and Sulwen tried to follow but Dylan halted them with a glare. They frowned, anxious but obedient to his silent command.
Sophie wouldn’t have obeyed so easily, he mused inwardly. She would have either confronted the situation, if deduced worthy of her time and convictions, or, if not, simply moved on. A lack of argument didn’t necessarily mean compliance.
It was an intriguing insight into his wife’s character, one he’d overlooked in the past, to his great regret.
His office was located on the main floor, secured by Porter for sensitive meetings and disciplinary actions. His desk had been a gift from Koko, carved from maple, wi
th three wolves in howling position, supporting a crescent top in the shape of a Celtic moon.
Koko had been an incredible artist, an unknown master of her craft who chose anonymity for love. There were reminders of her throughout the house; it was no wonder his brother still mourned.
Her spirit lingered.
Dylan settled behind the desk and waved his hand, motioning for Enid to take a seat across from him. Enid had been with him from the beginning. He owed his brother’s life to her.
So it was with offended bewilderment that he asked, “Why, Enid?” Her mouth opened to refute but he held up his hand. “No, don’t embarrass yourself with further lies. I sat up too many nights worrying about my wife emptying her stomach after every meal you served.”
“That woman is weak,” she sneered. “A temptress. I did not believe her child was yours.”
“And now that you’ve seen him?” he said quietly. “How did it feel to have my son laughing at your attempts to humiliate his mother?”
Enid remained silent, her head lowered.
“You shamed me with your abuse to my mate.”
She shook her head, beginning to realize, as her daughters had earlier, her precarious position. “I did it for you. That woman is not worthy of you.”
“She is my mate,” he growled. “The Goddess has found her worthy.”
Enid looked away with a sneer, at war with her beliefs. She feared the Gods and their judgments.
And with good reason.
She whispered under her breath, “She is not strong enough to lead by your side. She is not strong enough to protect us.”
Ah, as he had suspected, therein rested the true motive. Sophie’s kindness, in effect, had been a form of submission.
Wolves only respected strength.
“My wife returned for a purpose.” He had not intended to share this information until confirmed with his own eyes, but the night’s events made it necessary. “Our son has called the elements . . . I witnessed it myself today. Tomorrow night he’ll try to complete the transformation.”
Enid snapped to face him. “That cannot be.” Her voice was thick with disbelief—or denial. “Do not get your hopes up on this, Dylan,” she warned. “Neither Lydia nor Sulwen was blessed with enough power to call the wolf. The disappointment is . . . difficult to handle. I would not wish that upon you.”
