Viking Wolf

by Angelique Armae

  “Vidar?”

  She was still talking.

  And her words were still getting muted.

  Damn him to hell. “What?”

  “I said, my uncle gave me the castle for a week, as a gift, despite me telling him I preferred to spend the holidays alone, back in New Orleans. He insisted I come over for a month and even offered Wolfsden so I could have the quiet Christmas I wanted. Arguing with him was pointless.”

  Now that sheepish look on Bane’s face earlier made sense.

  The man had played him. And maybe so too, had Katya.

  But they obviously had played Leila as well, but mentioning that to her didn’t seem right at the moment. Spoiling her holiday wouldn’t benefit either of them. Though damn him if he knew how to remedy the situation without making at least one of them unhappy. And call him childish, but giving up his week of solitude was not something he was willing to do. Not even for the beautiful Leila.

  She stared him in the eyes. “Why aren’t you up at the cabin with the family?”

  He hesitated, partly lost to that deep chocolate gaze of hers and partly dumbfounded by the fact he’d just thought her beautiful. “I overslept.”

  “No one oversleeps on Christmas Day.”

  “Well I did. Your uncle was gracious enough not to wake me. He respects his guests.”

  “Fine,” she said, shrugging. “Keep the truth to yourself.”

  “You’re accusing me of lying?”

  “Well, I have known for months now that you like Mortimer, despite your bad-tempered attitude toward the man. You don’t hide emotions all that well, that’s all. Now is no different.”

  He huffed. The woman was a nightmare who came off as an enticing daydream. One that would probably cost his sanity dearly. He was not spending his week of solitude with her. “I really did sleep in.”

  “That may be true but I bet there’s more to it than that.”

  This fiery MacHendrie was bad news. And not just for him, but for little Fiona as well. If this was the type of woman who hailed from the MacHendrie bloodline, then investing heavily in the best finishing school for his goddaughter was a must.

  Leila flexed her fingers, scrunched her hand several times.

  Damn, but she felt good against him.

  Heat seeped through his t-shirt and went straight for his veins, filled him with a warmth he hadn’t sensed in centuries.

  A slight beat thumped in his chest.

  A crack echoed through the hall.

  “What was that?”

  He didn’t want to tell her it came from the cursed, frozen block of muscle he called his heart. “Are you always this inquisitive? I don’t remember you asking so many questions when we’ve been in each other’s company in the past.”

  “Apparently, you never paid much attention to our past encounters. I’m always curious when I’m around an inanimate object that can express emotions.”

  If only she knew the truth about the stone-cold lump occupying his chest. But since she didn’t, it had to be a reference to the castle. She made it sound like she lived in a world where non-living things always expressed feelings. He hadn’t remembered Katya ever talking much about Leila’s everyday life, nor had he remembered Bane ever doing so. “I thought you didn’t believe Wolfsden could growl?”

  “I didn’t at first. But I’m a MacHendrie and between that strange bloodline and my own quirks, I’ve seen many things that can’t be explained.” She shrugged. “Maybe there is something to a castle having feelings. I’m certainly not one to judge.”

  A second beat thumped in his chest. It had to be due to Leila’s hands, to the way her energy appeared to flow from her palms and fingers into his body. Only a witch or spell caster could work such magick. Though Leila wasn’t anything like that vile hag in New Orleans. Nor was she like Rorik. There was something odd about Bane’s niece, but odd in a good, caring way.

  The thought stumped him.

  He wondered what she’d think of his frigid heart suddenly thawing thanks to her touch.

  The floor straightened.

  His chest relaxed.

  Leila’s hand remained warm against his shirt, but the heat that had blanketed his ribs, drained away, opened the path for ice to reclaim his heart.

  He stared at the woman. She appeared to be utterly unaware of what was going on beneath her soft, smooth palm.

  Maybe he was losing his mind and had just imagined his heart thawing. After all, he had spent the night under those ridiculous fairies. For all he knew, between the magick of Dundaire, the magick of winter, and the frickin’ magick of Wolfsden itself, those dancing pixies could have had a bit of fun with him while he slept and he’d be none the wiser.

  He stepped back, freeing Leila, then reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved the set of car keys for the Range Rover he had access to. “There should be only one vehicle left in the garage. I doubt Bane would mind you taking it.” He offered her the brass wolf-headed keychain.

  “God, you really have a serious problem with lying.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Her brown-eyed gaze lingered on him, made him feel another touch of warmth. A warmth he didn’t need just now.

  “You said there was no car.”

  “I said there was no car for you to use. There’s a difference.”

  “And yet, you have now produced keys to said car.”

  The woman had a scorching tongue. One that would have cost a female back when he was held captive in his uncle Rorik’s camp. Thank the gods, he was nothing like his mother’s wicked brother. “You talk too much.”

  “And you talk too little.”

  He let out a deep breath. This one certainly didn’t take after Bane. “I have my reasons.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She snatched the keys from his hand and shoved them into the small black purse that dangled from a matching band of leather that cut across her breasts and draped around her hip. She would look damn enticing dressed as an ancient Viking warrior, of that he was certain as leather seemed to fit her fiery personality.

  “Do you want a ride?”

  Her question brought him back to reality. Spending too much time with the woman might be dangerous to him. Maybe to them both. “I’m not joining the family until New Year’s Eve.” He stepped away and glanced at the suitcase next to Leila. “That’s a small suitcase for a month’s visit.”

  “I won’t be staying that long. I’m booked on a flight back to New Orleans, the day after New Year’s. But Bane doesn’t know that yet.”

  The castle growled once more.

  “I think you should go to the cabin now. And do so in silence.”

  She balled her fists. “My uncle gave me the castle for a week. I’ll go up to the cabin to let him know I’ve arrived, when I damn well please, not when you tell me. I don’t take orders from you.”

  The walls rattled around them. “Maybe you should.”

  Leila turned around and reached for the door latch. She tugged on the wrought-iron lock, then huffed. “It’s stuck.”

  “I thought you weren’t going up to the cabin now?”

  “I’ve changed my mind.” She tested the door a second time. “I can’t get it to budge.”

  “This is why you shouldn’t waste your strength on insignificant things like unnecessary talking.”

  She stepped aside. “Have at it, hunk.” She extended her hand, palm side up, toward the door lock.

  She believed him a hunk. No woman had ever spoken such words to him, most of them only recognizing his large size which they tended to equate with being a brute. Of course, being an immortal Viking warrior hadn’t helped. He’d spent a good portion of his life covered in blood, dirt, and entrails. Being a bit brutish was his inherent nature.

  He walked up to the door and grabbed the latch.

  The stubborn thing didn’t lift.

  “I’m waiting, He-Man.”

  Now she was just being sarcastic. “Wolfsden is an ancient castle. You don’t jostle
its lock like it’s some sort of cheap, modern, machine-made thing. It’s delicate. You don’t force it.”

  “Of course not.”

  He gave the latch another shake.

  It remained firmly in place.

  A deep breath fell from his lips. “Maybe it shifted when the floor moved. I’ll take you to the back door.” He led Leila to the archive room off the main hall and went straight for the metal door. But like its front of the castle counterpart, its deadbolt didn’t move.

  “Guess I won’t be going to my uncle’s cabin. But that’s fine. I’ll just call him and let him know I’m here and then you can leave, drive yourself up the mountain.” She reached for her suitcase and headed back the way they’d come.

  He was not going to spend his week of peace and quiet with Bane’s niece. He followed her out of the room. “What makes you think I’m leaving?”

  “Bane said I could have the castle to myself. And those plans didn’t include you.”

  And his plans didn’t include her. “There is another door in the library.” Her scent of fresh cut roses filled his space, forced a howl to rise in his throat.

  He stifled it.

  His kneecap shifted.

  What the hell?

  His wolf hadn’t stirred in centuries. It was dead. Well, frozen in his heart, but that was no different than being dead. It should not be capable of making his knee pop. Why rise to life now?

  He stared at Leila.

  Not an ounce of her would be safe if he fully morphed into wolf. Or worse, if his wolf soul separated from his body and came into its own entity.

  What a sick thought to have, but considering it was a possibility, facing the truth was a must.

  Leila needed to be protected.

  Vidar turned toward the open double doors leading to Bane’s library. “There’s a secret entrance in the corner.”

  The doors slammed in his face before he had managed to get anywhere near the threshold.

  Leila huffed. “I’ll call my uncle.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’ll have the whole pack down here in minutes.”

  “And that would be bad because…?”

  Because uncivilized wolves brought chaos and all he wanted was peace. “Are you sure you’re a MacHendrie?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. What are you insinuating?”

  He inhaled a gulp of air and counted to ten. Why did women always have to jump to conclusions? “I would not want to stand with you on the battlefield. You’re hotheaded.”

  “As if you’re the epitome of calm.”

  “I am not the one accusing me of having called you a bastard, when I didn’t.”

  “You questioned my lineage. I think that is the same thing.”

  He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “I’m phoning your uncle.”

  “I thought you didn’t want the pack here.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  She reached for his arm.

  His heart pulsed.

  “I’m sure there must be some way out of here,” she said, the sincere look in her brown eyes seeming genuine. “Besides, if you go ranting to my uncle about Wolfsden locking us in, he will get his snout in a pickle thinking I’m in danger. He’s a damn loyal wolf and family means everything to him. Maybe in an hour or so the front door will come unstuck. In the least, you’ll calm down and then maybe you can make a sensible call up to the cabin.”

  By then he’d come unhitched, his mind as well as his soul, if the current state of his patience was any indicator.

  His elbow twitched.

  The wolf in his heart was returning to life and he knew damn well, thanks to his uncle’s revelation, he wouldn’t be able to control the beast once it came alive again. It scared the hell out of him. “Remove your hand from my arm.”

  She pulled away. “My, but you’re a snippy wolf.”

  “Aye.”

  “That’s it? Just ‘Aye’?”

  “I’m contacting Bane. The man must come and fetch you.”

  ~~o0o~~

  She was not going to be fetched by anyone. “Fine. But I’ll do the calling. The last thing I need is a riled-up Viking ruffling Bane’s scruff.”

  Thankfully her uncle’s number was on her phone’s contact list, because if she had to remember the damn thing off the top of her head, after Vidar had gotten her all worked up, she’d end up stuck with He-Man for hours. And she was not going to spend any more time with the dude than was necessary. If anyone was going to be fetched, it was going to be her sourpuss Viking.

  She tapped her foot while waiting for the phone to connect.

  The rhythmic beat of her boot sole hitting the marble floor, echoed.

  And echoed some more. “It’s not ringing.”

  Vidar glanced at his own cell. “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no service.”

  “I’m showing full bars.”

  “And yet your phone is not making a connection.”

  The Viking was beyond snippy. “Well, up here, we are a good distance from civilization. I suppose decent cell service is a bit much to expect.”

  “I’ve never had trouble calling out until now.”

  Definitely not the words an untrained sin-eater wanted to hear.

  She bit her bottom lip. It was happening again. The damn powers in her were agitated and they were wreaking havoc on Wolfsden. Right now, it was stealing the cell service. Another ten minutes and she could be sucking in ghostly auras from the old family cemetery. Wolfsden had to have a graveyard somewhere on the grounds.

  But even if it wasn’t long dead energy she was wolfing down, the gods desire to feed her greedy little soul could result in anything being drawn into her mouth.

  A half-hour or so of some deep meditation and the energy in her core should calm down. At least she prayed it would because she needed to get Vidar out of this place. Being locked up with the crabby Viking was anything but pleasant. And she was not going to let him ruin her Christmas. Being the key to unleashing all things dark was a bitch and the man had somehow aggravated that key.

  Of course, she didn’t blame her powers for getting a bit bent out of shape. Vidar was a tempting beast, despite that fact irking her to all hell. The term model perfection pretty much summed him up. Until you got to his underlying moodiness, that is. The man’s irritability was off the charts. “If you can just show me to a bedroom, I think we’ll be fine.”

  A wicked grin crept across Vidar’s lips. “You want me in your bed?”

  The man was appalling. “Of course, not. I just want to get some rest. Is that too much to ask? I mean, you are capable of showing me to a room, aren’t you? Or do I have to be more explicit in my request? Because I can easily break it down for you.”

  Vidar slid his phone back into his jeans pocket and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Indulge me.”

  He was beyond insufferable. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.” She cleared her throat. “Can you…” She pointed to him.

  “Show me.” She brought her finger to her shoulder.

  “To a bedroom.” She moved her hand toward the curved staircase.

  The wicked smile on his mouth remained in place as if he enjoyed getting her all riled up.

  What a rogue.

  He inched closer, a twinkle in his vibrant eyes. “It would be my pleasure, but all the beds have been taken. I’ll put you in the upstairs playroom. There’s no formal sleeping space, but it does have a chair that unfolds to a decent length. It will work for a small female.” He snaked his hand around her waist.

  “Hey, that’s not allowed.” She slapped at him.

  “I was only going for your suitcase.”

  Heat filtered into her cheeks. Of course, the guy was only reaching for her luggage. The damn thing was standing right behind her, how else was he going to get it?

  Vidar’s scent of crisp linen washed in sun-drenched lemon, sauntered under her nose.
“What type of soap do you use?” Getting to the bottom of this whole mate thing was a must.

  “Lemon if I make it myself. Fresh cotton if I use my favorite store bought brand. Why?”

  Damn. She was certain the aroma had come from deep inside him, not from something external. And certainly not from something man-made like factory-manufactured soap. Maybe he wasn’t her mate after all.

  “I’ll show you to your room, Miss MacHendrie.” Vidar lifted her suitcase with ease, his biceps flexing.

  If the man had any more muscle, he’d be one solid block.

  She watched him walk up the stairs. Those dark blue jeans did nothing to conceal his strong thighs or his firm backside. Even that long hair of his gave off an aura of strength. The man must have made quite the impression as a high-handed Viking on the battlefield back in the day. He obviously was still a formidable opponent, though she hadn’t recalled Bane talking much about modern day battles, though she knew fights between shifter clans did continue to happen. The war between good and evil seemed to always be brewing somewhere in the world.

  Heat throbbed in her palms.

  A dim gray shadow pulled from Vidar’s body, bobbed about in the air around him as if it were a weightless gossamer web and not the significant amount of dark energy that she knew it to be.

  Her lips tingled.

  Not a good sign.

  The sin-eater in her soul was itching for a taste of that dark shroud and if that happened, all hell stood to break lose.

  Maybe that was the reason behind the Viking’s moodiness. Did he even know he was harboring a shade of darkness?

  Most people don’t.

  That was, unless they came in contact with one Leila MacHendrie. Her untamed gift’s voracious need for extracting diabolic essences made her a magnet for unleashing darkness. Pandora and that legendary box of evils had nothing on the sin-eater resting in her soul.

  Spending too much time with Vidar was definitely not in her best interest.

  Or his.

  Chapter Three

  Leila followed Vidar up the curved staircase to Wolfsden’s second floor. At the top landing, a whiff of sweet-smelling incense floated through the air, reminded her of the magnificent basilicas and old churches she’d visited on her last trek through Europe. The pungent scent peeled from the castle’s stone walls. Too bad it no longer held the strength it must have had during its original use, or she would have been able to ignore the remnants of past energies now stroking her arms, skimming her cheeks, and caressing her shoulders. The proper incense did wonders for fighting off wandering, unseen-to-the-human-eye, entities.