by Jan Delima
“Well, Dylan did execute her husband,” Sarah pointed out. “In her home, I might add.”
A snide chuckle fell from Teyrnon’s mouth. “Wish I’d been there.”
“The Guardians must have swarmed her afterward. I can’t imagine . . .” Sarah’s somber tone suggested that she could, and did, vividly imagine what Math’s wife had endured in the aftermath of her husband’s death. “I wonder how she managed to get away.”
Teyrnon glared at Sarah, his gaze heavy with censure. He had the rugged build of his Norse father, with tawny hair and a perpetual scowl. “What makes you think she’s here without their knowledge?”
The female guard didn’t cower. “Because when she helped Sophie escape, she also provided information on secret passages into Castell Avon, information that our leader used to our advantage. Why would she do that unless she’s trying to break away?”
Luc let their banter play out, interested in both viewpoints. The two guards paired well together, voicing sound yet opposing arguments. Diverse perspectives were necessary to win battles, and Luc had little doubt that Rosa’s arrival heralded a conflict of some sort in their near future, if not an outright declaration of war against the Guardians.
Either way, he was prepared.
Teyrnon widened his stance, turned his head to spit. “Obviously she’d grown tired of being tupped by a rancid husband.”
“I’m sure she has others wanting that role.” Sarah shook her head. “No, something’s off here. It’s not typical behavior. Guardians take. They demand. They don’t send their precious pure-blooded and unmated females into enemy territory filled with half-human males. I think she’s here for our help.”
“Don’t make assumptions,” Teyrnon growled. “They’re batshit crazy. You can’t rationalize their motives. If you try, it’ll get you killed. Guardians have no conscience, especially the ones with tits.”
On that note, Luc decided to intervene. “We’ll assume the worst until Rosa Alban proves otherwise, but we won’t be cruel. That is their way, not ours.”
Teyrnon looked away at the reprimand, a slight tic at his jawline the only indication of his ire. Luc allowed him a moment to calm his wolf, aware the Norseman’s negative viewpoint toward female Guardians was well-founded.
His homestead had been destroyed by the Guardians in the late 1600s. For daring to live outside their rules, they had burned his fields and slaughtered his animals. Briallen, a Guardian’s wife, had been involved. Her name was common knowledge but not what she’d done to earn the full weight of Teyrnon’s hatred. Luc assumed, as did others, that more than a farm had been ruined that day, but only a drunkard or an idiot would venture to ask the full story.
Because on a good day, Teyrnon was an ass. On a bad day, well . . . most knew to keep a wide berth. He had lived in Rhuddin Village for more than a century now, after offering his services in return for being among others of their kind who opposed the Guardians.
Luc had yet to regret granting his request. Regardless of his habitual pissed-off attitude, or mayhap because of it, Teyrnon was a shrewd and loyal guard.
Lifting the iron latch, Luc slid the gate open just enough to walk through. “Sarah, stay with me as my second. Teyrnon, go warn Dylan of our guest, and then the other guards. Check the north and south entrances of our territory first. Rosa’s arrival may be a decoy.”
The Norseman gave a sharp nod. “Understood.”
After the guard had gone, Luc motioned with his hand for Rosa to step out of the truck, while keeping the other on his scabbard that hung from his waist. She complied slowly, but he sensed her cautious approach was for his benefit and not out of fear on her part.
“I am unarmed,” Rosa announced. Her voice was formal but pleasant, like the sound of a soft Victorian wind. And if he were to be completely honest, so too was the rest of her. This held no importance to him, simply an observation, because oftentimes the vilest of creatures hid under a shell of beauty.
“Then you are stupid, Rosa Alban,” Luc said. “Remove your coat.”
“Just call me Rosa.” She shrugged out of her wool jacket, folded it neatly and placed it on the hood of her truck. “And I would only be stupid if death frightens me . . . which it does not. You are free to search.”
Her hair was the color of golden wine, pulled back into a long plait. She wore snug-fitting black trousers underneath, common boots and a plain green sweater that hung loose to midthigh. Her boots were the only items that appeared purchased rather than handmade.
“Lift your arms,” Luc ordered.
She observed him with unblinking regard—not an act of submission, even though she lifted her arms above her head as instructed.
“You are Luc Black, are you not?” she asked with a curious tilt to her head. “Dylan’s brother.”
Her eyes were a notable color of blue edged with purple that bled to burgundy, reminding him of Elen’s garden in bloom, beautiful in nature but peculiar on a woman. The burgundy, he suspected, was a good sign her wolf was close to the surface, rising, as any of their beasts would, in enemy territory.
“My brother has been expecting you.” Luc chose not to deny her accurate assumption, but grinned instead, aware of the stories that must have reached her ears about him. “We have a few questions.”
He patted her down. A faint hint of vanilla clung to her skin that he didn’t find unpleasant. Most Guardians had a stench about them, like corpses with trapped souls, fetid and unholy. He didn’t sense that from her, which was an intriguing discovery. If memory served, her parents had been the last mated Guardians to produce a pure-blooded female heir. She was a rare and precious commodity indeed, and one who should have succumbed to the darkness that surrounded her.
More interesting, he discovered nothing other than soft curves and a lush give of extra flesh beneath her clothing, a telltale sign that Math’s widow didn’t run often. Shifting produced a higher metabolism that left little fat to be stored, no matter what form one assumed, wolf or human.
As Luc stepped back, he wondered at that oddity. Being the youngest female shifter of their kind, she should have flaunted her wolf, but had contained it instead.
Her control, he realized then, must be great. And a wolf with that much control was more dangerous than most. He knew, because it had taken centuries to learn how to suppress his own; it was a constant struggle that never relinquished. And this woman was what? Three hundred years or so?
A baby to their kind.
Though, he had to admit, she did not look like a baby, but rather a woman who had seen too much brutality in her lifetime. A beauty who exuded power and sensuality, despite her demure guise.
She gave a small nod to Sarah, an acknowledgment of respect that surprised Luc, who didn’t much care for surprises.
“I’m sure you have many questions,” Rosa said. “And I’ll answer them as soon as you take me to Dylan.”
Luc felt his spine tighten at the insult, quickly followed by a shaft of pain that ripped through his rib cage. Outwardly, he remained stoic, hiding the inner tantrum of his darker half.
She had asked for his brother because Dylan was the leader of the Katahdin territory; he was also the person she had keenly manipulated into owing her, at the very least, an audience.
Still, it chafed his wolf, who wanted to decide Rosa’s course in its domain. Two dominants in one territory had always been a challenge. Despite the fact that he was younger, Luc was just as powerful as his brother.
More so, actually, though he kept that secret well hidden.
Having been raised by Dylan, he had learned loyalty before dominance. Honor—Dylan’s, not his—had made that possible.
And yet, this woman had managed to trigger his baser instincts. And over a perfectly logical request, blatant proof that his control was slipping down a dangerous path.
Harsher than intended, he growled, “
Follow me.”
Three
Taking note of her surroundings, Rosa trailed Luc down a long corridor toward voices, both male and female. The exterior design of Rhuddin Hall resembled a meld of castle and some of America’s earlier defensive forts, with four well-placed turrets surrounded by a catwalk.
Whereas the interior reminded her of a real home, or what little she’d seen of real homes, and even those examples were mostly from books and magazines she kept hidden within her secret cabin.
Wooden floors gleamed with frequent waxes, and cream-colored paint brightened the interior walls, while an assortment of overstuffed furniture invited comfort. It wasn’t a proclamation of wealth, but rather a place for gathering, a place for family and pack.
The scent of something divine wafted from the kitchens to tease her empty stomach; it decided at that moment to grumble, to her utter embarrassment.
Luc turned to stare. His eyes were pale gray ringed with black, an eerie likeness to liquid mercury, poisonous and yet strangely compelling. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”
If she wasn’t mistaken, his question held a note of concern. How strange?
Oddly flustered under the full weight of his gaze, she said, “I’m fine.” Although she hadn’t eaten since the night before, which was also unusual for her; food was her only enjoyment in this life and she rarely denied herself its comfort.
To be honest, as she often tried to be with self-reflection, Rosa admitted that she felt unsteady in his company. Not frightened—that would have been a more normal response—just off balance.
Conceivably, it might have something to do with the fact that his touch hadn’t bothered her. She chewed her bottom lip while contemplating that anomaly. His hands had run down the length of her sides, under her sweater and over her stomach, then up her inner thighs, efficiently—and without lingering.
Another oddity, at least for her.
And she couldn’t help but acknowledge that perhaps his exploration had been too indifferent, when, for the first time, she had almost enjoyed the sensation.
More disturbing, she sensed his wolf. She felt it, as if his beast lingered just under the surface of his humanity.
Keeping a few paces between them, she stared at the wide expanse of his back and actually shivered. If Luc was as primed in wolf form as he was in human, then he must be something magnificent to behold.
Her own inner wolf rubbed along her spine in complete agreement with that assessment. The reaction surprised her. Her step even faltered until she righted herself, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
What was wrong with her?
She should be afraid.
She should be, at the very least, detached, as she planned to negotiate the future protection of her people. Instead, she wondered what it would be like to run with him, to let their wolves free and just run . . .
Shaking her head, Rosa redirected her thoughts to a more useful purpose. She considered what little she knew of Luc, quite certain that some of her information was untrue given the source.
Math had called this man the Beast of Merin on more than one occasion, a moniker coined by the Guardians upon Luc’s birth. Having been born in wolf form to an Original Guardian, Luc was the youngest son of Merin, one of the more influential, and frightening, members of the Council.
Stories were told by kitchen fires about the Beast, in whispers from the Hen Was reminiscing about their homeland. Merin had attempted to kill her son upon his birth, sensing weakness like a predator who suffocates their runts. Cady, Luc’s aunt and Merin’s sister, had attended the birthing bed and saved the infant cub.
According to the stories, and they were too consistent not to hold some truth, Luc had been raised by his older brother in the camps of the outcasts, rebels of their kind who had hid in the forests to protect their families from Guardian cruelty. Much later, Dylan and his siblings had journeyed across an ocean to settle in a new land. Along with their sister, Elen, they had formed a new territory in the valley of mountains. More than a thousand years and they had stayed united.
A true family.
Rosa envied them, and that wasn’t an emotion she allowed herself often, for envy only promoted self-doubt and weakness, two qualities she couldn’t afford if she wanted to survive.
Nevertheless, she felt compelled to study Luc further.
He wore faded jeans with his sword, a modern and medieval contrast that would have made her smile if that peculiar tightening in her abdomen hadn’t occurred. His black T-shirt hugged his back, doing little to hide the mass of muscle that rippled underneath as he moved. Where the cotton ended, black tattoos continued to cover his neck and arms; the pattern resembled wings of some sort. An animal, maybe? Or an angel?
Not many shifters sported tattoos, since the ink expelled from their skin during the change—unless they were skilled. If not, they had to reapply it each time.
Luc, she sensed, was one of the skilled.
His hair was kohl black, as if absent of light, and tied at his nape by a strip of leather. The thick tail reached below his shoulders. According to records, his father had been human, of Roman and Egyptian descent, a warrior during the Roman occupation of Britain around AD 300. He must favor his father, because Merin was pure Celt, blond and pale like many of their kind.
Luc halted under an arched doorway. “Rosa Alban,” he announced, holding out his arm for her to enter the room, while he remained at her back.
It took some effort for her not to balk, recognizing the effective trap. “Just call me Rosa,” she reminded him.
His brow creased in response. “Your surname displeases you?”
“It represents my marriage to Math,” she said. “I despise it more than you’ll ever know.”
His expression wavered. She might have thought her proclamation had softened him somewhat. However, now that she’d met him in person, soft wasn’t a quality she would associate with the Beast of Merin. Stern, perhaps. Alert. Powerful, to be sure. Lonely too. She didn’t know why she sensed the latter, yet she did; she had lived with loneliness long enough to know when another bore its weight.
But definitely not soft.
Granted, his gaze did seem less harsh. Though only a little, since he continued to regard her like a predator would its prey, as food and not anything that might hint of more pleasurable intents.
She knew the difference.
His left hand rested on his sword. “You are safe,” he said in contrast to his stance. “Unless you threaten us first.”
“I’ve no intentions of threatening you. Regardless of what you may think, I’m not an idiot.” She gained a certain amount of satisfaction voicing her true opinion in open company. “Besides, I’ve not been safe since the day the Guardians executed my parents. And I doubt I ever will be again, so save your comforting words because they are lies.”
* * *
Misfortune had no limits, as far as Luc was concerned, and he was reminded that even Rosa had felt its ragged teeth on more than one occasion. Hardly surprising, having been married to Math her entire adult life from the age of sixteen. A sudden repulsive image invaded his thoughts, of Rosa on her wedding night to a Guardian.
Apart from the fact that Math had been too old for a union with a mere girl, he’d had a disturbed mind to match his withered body. Math had been an elder when he’d been granted the ability to transform into a wolf. Two thousand years hadn’t helped his cause. Even Original Guardians aged, although much more slowly than humans.
It was also rumored that Math had preferred the company of men. While Luc didn’t give two shits about the sexual preferences of willing adults, binding a young woman to a hopeless union was unfortunate, especially if it had followed the recent death of her family.
He shook the thought from his head, apprehensive that Rosa had made him feel sympathy toward her, a dangerous skill of any enemy.
Porter stood with his legs braced apart and arms resting by his sides, a deadly stance for those who knew him. A former Jacobite, he kept his head shaved bald to expose a tattoo of a Celtic cross that covered his bare cranium.
Rosa scanned the occupants of the room without comment until she found Taliesin lounging in the corner. “You!” she exclaimed, losing much of her reserved posture to what could only be construed as unmitigated anger.
Luc’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” Rosa’s hands clenched by her sides. “They said you had resurfaced but I didn’t believe them.”
“Sin is our friend and guest,” Sophie answered for Taliesin. She stood and walked toward her husband. “We have been expecting you, Rosa.”
Dylan put his arm around his wife and hugged her close to his side. “Before I ask what your demands are for helping my wife, I must thank you for what you did. I’m in your debt. My concern, as I’m sure you’re well aware, is what you want in return. If it’s achievable without bringing danger to my family, or to the people I protect within my territory, I’ll honor it.”
Rosa made a valiant effort to calm herself, but her eyes, now pure burgundy, continued to sneak glances in Taliesin’s direction. Her shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath and let it out. “I want to join your alliance against the Guardians.”
“Ah,” Dylan said. “And that raises a second question . . . Who informed you about our alliance?”
Luc gritted his teeth to remain silent, and the submissive act didn’t go unpunished. He tasted copper at the back of his throat and swallowed the blood-soaked bile. Though Rosa may not realize it yet, for Dylan to admit to the existence of their alliance revealed his intentions to grant her request.
