Viking Wolf

by Angelique Armae

  With its stone façade, snow-covered hedges, and winding driveway, Wolfsden looked beyond story book perfect. Though trudging up said drive, suitcase in tow, fingers freezing to the bone was anything but. Maybe the taxi driver had good reason for leaving her at the bottom of the hill. She’d never seen a cabbie so eager to speed away. The man didn’t even wait for her to get the fare money out of her purse before taking off, tires skidding. Free rides weren’t had for nothing. That cabbie knew something she didn’t.

  Leila adjusted her glove, then trekked up the snow-covered gravel.

  She really had to be nuts to leave sunny New Orleans for a medieval castle peering down at a mist-shrouded town no earthly map ever revealed. Maybe her late father was right in keeping her a world away from his birthplace. She’d known her uncle well enough from his visits to New Orleans, but being around the pack was another thing. Her father had insisted on keeping as much distance between her and that part of her heritage, for many years, and maybe with good reason, as now that she took a closer look at Wolfsden Keep, the old castle did give off a rather odd vibe, its atmosphere both alluring and off-putting at the same time.

  Maybe it had to do with evening setting in. Twilight always made her view innocent things with a darker perception than did full out daylight.

  Cold kissed her spine.

  She let go of her suitcase handle and then rubbed her arms. Apparently, a sweater wasn’t warm enough for Dundaire. She should have packed that down coat Katya suggested she take. Next time she came for a visit, she was going to listen to her uncle’s sister-in-law.

  She gave her arms one last pat, then grabbed the suitcase again, and headed toward the stone path lining Wolfsden’s front yard.

  Hopefully it was just the winter elements that made the place look like it was more a Pandora’s box than a charming castle because if that was not the case, then her knack for releasing trapped darkness was going to make this one hell of a holiday. Untrained sin-eaters didn’t belong keeping watch over a medieval castle filled with priceless antiques. She prayed to God her untamed ability to draw darkness from objects wasn’t going to kick in once she got inside Wolfsden. Destroying Uncle Bane’s collection of artifacts, treasures her father had often boasted about, wasn’t the memories she wanted to create the first time visiting the castle.

  Maybe Bane didn’t even know about her special gift. That was a very real possibility as he’d never mentioned it on any of his visits to New Orleans. And Lord knows her father never cared to discuss the matter being that the ability was a talent inherited from her mother’s side of the family, a family she never knew.

  A long breath escaped her.

  She stepped up to the front door. The massive arched portal bore a wolf face outlined in wrought-iron nails. The studded ornamentation seemed almost as if it was looking at her, sizing her up, whether to eat her or not.

  Maybe the door and the hawk were in cahoots.

  She stuck out her tongue at the eccentric design.

  The outline grinned back, a devilish, flirty type of smirk that made her want to reach out and wipe the door free of those black dotted lips. Its matching eyes blinked.

  Leila gasped.

  The door unlatched with a click, then creaked opened.

  She caught her breath, reminded herself she was at the home of Scotland’s number one alpha. Anything was possible here. Her family had an endless list of magickally inclined nutcases in its closet. A breathing, living door shouldn’t be a shock.

  She inched forward. “Hello? Uncle Bane? Anybody home?”

  Nothing.

  Sticking her head in the doorway, her gaze homed in on a tall Christmas tree next to the curved staircase. And not just a typical evergreen, but rather a massive, maybe eighteen-footer, decorated with miniature Highlanders dressed in kilts. There had to be at least five hundred ornaments on the thing, but it all looked picture perfect in the huge circular hall. Even its blue MacHendrie tartan tree skirt stood out against the marble-tiled floor.

  Uncle Bane obviously loved Christmas, which wasn’t much of a surprise as her late father started decorating their New Orleans home one minute after midnight on Halloween. There wasn’t even room for a pumpkin in the house once November rolled around.

  Maybe coming to Dundaire was the right choice.

  A burst of snow blew into the hall.

  Leila shivered, but remained in place.

  The crisp scent of lemon coupled with the slight hint of sun-kissed linen smothered her nose.

  Breath knocked from her lungs.

  She knew that scent.

  Only one man had the ability to take her breath away.

  Vidar.

  This could not be happening. She could not be sensing the Viking’s scent here. In Scotland. After she’d gone to such extremes to avoid the dude back home. The first time she’d met him, she’d recognized his scent.

  Damn the MacHendrie bloodline and their stupid curse of knowing their mates by scent and on instant.

  Vidar was not the man she wanted.

  He was wolf.

  He was Viking.

  He was not a Scot.

  He was not mortal.

  Could this trip get any worse?

  Her throat swelled.

  Apparently, it could.

  She released the handle of her suitcase and grabbed for her sweater’s collar, pulled it, tried to free her neck from the thick white wool constricting her windpipe.

  Her heart rate accelerated.

  She gasped.

  Then panted.

  Then gasped again.

  Air slowly seeped back into her lungs.

  What the hell was happening? Never had she suffered like this, not even when she engulfed mass doses of darkness from that vile witch she had faced back on Bourbon Street last year. Abeille and her had been vying for the same darkness for at least the last five years. And it wasn’t like New Orleans didn’t have enough dark energy to go around. Heck, every city had enough negativity to support tens of hundreds of sin-eaters. The turf war with Abeille was ridiculous. Of course none of that mattered here in Dundaire. Which brought her focus back to that darn Viking.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have ignored Vidar the last time they’d met. But she didn’t want a mate. Not yet, not with her still not knowing how to control the sin-eater side of her soul. She’d lost too many potential boyfriends thanks to that little flaw in her system. Risking anything more was so not going to happen.

  A gray mist pulled from the castle’s walls and swirled around her, blanketed her and even stroked her hand as if it were a caring parent attempting to calm a scared child.

  Gradually, her heartbeat returned to normal.

  She took a deep breath, never enjoying it so much as now.

  The mist dissipated.

  Calm settled in her soul, but it still didn’t explain what the hell was up with the whole choking scenario. It wasn’t like her to get all worked up like that. Not even over Vidar, her supposed destined mate. Thank God, she never mentioned the scent thing to her father or Katya or even Uncle Bane. No one knew save for herself and she planned on keeping it that way. Especially from Vidar. Who knew what the family would make her do if any of them knew she’d already found her mate.

  Marry her off, that’s what they’d do.

  And she was not having any of that.

  Vidar entered the castle’s main hall.

  Why the hell hadn’t he answered when she shouted if anyone was home?

  A ring of orange and yellow light, the soft glow of twilight, filtered in from a window on the far wall and illuminated the strapping Viking.

  Did she just say strapping? Really, how ridiculous was that? If she kept thinking along those lines, she’d start to believe she liked the guy. Found him attractive. Sexy even. And that was so not the truth. She didn’t care a fig for his long, ash blond hair, or his well-muscled arms, or his long, strong legs. She didn’t even dream about staring into his brilliant blue eyes. In fact, those were alwa
ys a sore spot with her thanks to the way one look from them made heat shoot right to that sweet spot at the apex of her thighs. The man never failed to leave her aggravated.

  He was everything she didn’t want.

  And didn’t need.

  In fact, Vidar Von Hess was six-foot-four-inches of pure Viking splendor she didn’t need.

  He was enough to get even a saint to turn to sin and she had more than enough of that crap to deal with as it was.

  A whiff of lemon coupled with fresh linen drifted her way.

  Oh, for God’s sake. Didn’t the man know ancient Viking warriors were supposed to smell of blood and guts and not like they just walked out of a shower? He had some serious shit going wrong in that beautiful body of his. The man hadn’t a clue who he was.

  Another whiff of the scent, now at a strength she found pleasing, rounded the hall and that was so not a good thing.

  She craved scents she found pleasing and craving Vidar was not the gift she wanted for Christmas.

  A rush of heat licked her clit.

  This could not be happening. Especially not to her. She’d spent most of her life trying to avoid being one of the pack, trying to avoid falling for a wolf.

  She stared at Vidar. He was not making this easy on her.

  He appeared quite at home in his casual jeans and dark blue t-shirt, the latter of which showcased some very buff biceps.

  Of all the times for her MacHendrie blood to kick in, why the heck did it have to be now?

  All she wanted was a quiet holiday away from wolves. And she would have had that back in the privacy of her New Orleans home where she spent most days researching her darn preternatural gift that she couldn’t seem to manage no matter how hard she tried.

  A mate was not what she needed.

  Nor wanted.

  At least Vidar didn’t seem to notice the fact she could detect his wolf scent. If she played it cool, she just might be able to skirt through the holidays without being proposed to.

  And that couldn’t suit her any better. “Is Bane home?” No need for introductions since playing nice was never on her got-to-have-me-a-mate meter where Vidar was concerned.

  Nor was it on his, based on his same cool demeanor he never failed to shoot back to her.

  She crossed the threshold and pulled her suitcase into the hall.

  “He’s with family at the cabin near the summit of Mount Dundaire.”

  Fudge. She knew stopping for that cup of tea was a mistake, but the damp air had her chilled to the bone, and whenever her soul started to freeze, it’s insatiable thirst for darkness turned her into a supernatural negativity monger. And walking around Dundaire, mouth open, sucking in gray matter that pulled from every damn thing within a few feet of her, would have made the locals think her the devil’s spawn. Even if they couldn’t see the darkness she was consuming. Walking around gaped-mouth would be enough to do her in.

  She sighed. At least she’d gotten that chocolate-dipped orange biscuit out of the stop. That she didn’t regret. “He’s there until New Year’s, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Purple and gold sparkles glinted off the man’s hand.

  What the hell was he holding? Was that a fairy wing? He didn’t look the type to play with dolls, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some sick fetish. Keeping the subject of him being her mate out of conversation was probably best. “Is it far to the cabin?”

  “A few miles.” He slipped the wing into his back jeans pocket and brushed off his hands.

  She probably needed to get her ass up to that cabin before Uncle Bane sent the pack searching. As she learned at the tender age of three, when she crawled under her dresser and no one could find her, alarming the alpha was never a good thing. She promised she’d see him before he turned over the castle to her for the week. Being late wasn’t part of that plan. “I don’t suppose there’s a car I can borrow?”

  “No.”

  “Still not a man of many words, are you?”

  “Energy should not be wasted.”

  Oh, brother. Of all the wolves she could be mated to, she had to go and shackle herself to a real charmer. It really was a good thing Vidar didn’t know the truth. “I agree, but it wouldn’t kill you to be a little civil.” She held up her hand and gestured a small space with her thumb and forefinger.

  “You know nothing about what would or wouldn’t kill me.”

  What the heck did that mean?

  The door slammed behind her.

  A thud echoed through the castle, followed by a low growl.

  “That is not good,” Vidar said.

  “No shit, genius. Snarling wolves are never a good sign.”

  “That wasn’t a wolf.”

  Her stomach dropped. “Then what was it?”

  “The castle.”

  “A building can’t growl.”

  “As Bane would say, you don’t know Wolfsden.”

  No, she didn’t. But it was her father’s birthplace and that alone should give her some advantage in the situation. If the castle could express emotion, it had to recognize her as one of its own.

  A second growl emitted from somewhere beneath her feet.

  “It’s determined,” her hunky Viking said.

  Oh, God, now she was thinking him hunky. And hers. This had to stop. Now.

  She huffed. “Probably because it’s not pleased that you’re here.” She tore off her gloves and then rubbed her temples, her cold fingers chilling her skin.

  A slight smile coveted Vidar’s lips, revealed his perfect, white teeth.

  Did the man have any flaws? Any at all?

  “It wasn’t animated until you arrived,” he said. “That I know for fact.”

  As if she was the problem. This was her ancestral home. And she was invited over. “Bane asked me to come. He insisted I visit for the holidays, so if Wolfsden can feel emotions, then it has to know I am someone who is supposed to be here. Someone who is welcome here.”

  Vidar frowned. “Then you probably should go to the cabin because that is where Bane is. The path behind the castle will take you up Mount Dundaire.” He pointed to the large, arched window that as so gloriously still illuminating him that damn angelic-looking glow.

  A tall, snow-covered peak showed in the leaded glass. “You want me to get to the summit of that huge mountain by foot?”

  Vidar shrugged. “I’ve done it many times.” He turned and headed for a set of open double doors across the hall.

  “That’s not the point. I’m sure I can manage the walk, it’s just that it’s freezing out there.”

  “The walk will warm you up.”

  “You’re right. And even if it doesn’t, facing the cold is far better than spending another minute in here with you. Be sure to be gone by the time I get back.”

  The castle grumbled once again, but this time the floor vibrated.

  Vidar skidded.

  Leila slid backward, her bootheels colliding with the stone wall.

  The Viking was coming her way.

  With every noise the ancient keep made, its floor tilted a little more in her direction until Vidar, apparently, had no choice but to slide forward.

  And promptly land against her.

  Chapter Two

  What the hell was Bane up to inviting both him and Leila for Christmas? Was the man insane? And the same had to be said for his sister, because Katya had gone out of her way to stress the fact that Leila was coming to their house for the holiday. It was part of the reason why he’d taken Bane up on the offer to spend this week at Wolfsden.

  This was not turning out as he’d expected.

  Yet despite that irksome realization, Vidar couldn’t keep his gaze off his brown-haired beauty who was now sandwiched between him and the wall. Nor could he ignore her tempting mix of perfumes.

  Taking a deep breath, he filled his lungs to capacity. The scent of fresh cut roses came off Leila’s sweater, while her long, straight brown hair smelled of wild strawberries kissed by morning showers on
a breezy April day.

  He liked strawberries.

  And he liked roses.

  But indulging in his favorite fruit and flower wasn’t going to give him the peace his hexed heart craved. Being a people person ended the night his uncle drove that cursed stake into him. Bane’s niece was an inconvenience. He did not want to spend Christmas with a woman who, when the chance was given her, didn’t care to be near him.

  “You’re heavy,” she said, pushing one hand against his chest.

  “I can’t change that.”

  He gazed at her fingers gracing his t-shirt. Small and delicate, her hand appeared almost fragile-looking. Her wrist too. In fact, she was quite tiny all over. He’d never noticed before.

  Leila shifted. “I need some space.”

  “You think I don’t?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Aww hell. This wasn’t Leila’s fault. Just because she was Bane’s niece, and the woman who always kept her distance whenever they were in close quarters, he couldn’t blame her for this holiday mix-up. “I’m sorry, but unless the castle straightens out, I can’t get off you completely, though I will try to back up.” He splayed his hands against the wall and mustered enough strength to move his torso slightly away from Leila’s body. The rest of him stayed put. If Odin had any mercy, the god would keep him from crushing the woman.

  “Does this happen often?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “This is a first for me, but it is Wolfsden and from what I’ve experienced during my visits, anything is possible. Dundaire is not your typical town.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you on the matter. But that’s really not a shocker as the MacHendries aren’t your typical wolves. Especially Bane. I don’t think he’d live in a normal place.”

  The woman knew her uncle well. “What brings you here?”

  “I said I was invited for Christmas. Don’t you listen?”

  He did, but for some dumb reason whatever she’d said before seemed to have been muted out thanks to other thoughts he was having at that moment. Like how she looked nothing like a fierce MacHendrie and how her white sweater fitted snuggly over her ample boobs.