Inking the Wolf: A wolf shifter paranormal romance (Wolves of Crookshollow Book 3)

by Steffanie Holmes

  I knew exactly what my mother was picturing – a marquee on the lawn, waiters in tails handing out little trays of disgusting raw fish things, a string quartet in the corner, four-hundred pretentious wankers I didn’t even know talking about their horses and how England was going to the dogs because of all the immigrants. All things I abhorred.

  But fine, she could think that if she wanted. Anything to get her off the phone. “Yes, that’s it. And you don’t need to worry about any of the details – I’ve hired a wedding planner. Her name is Willow and she did a royal wedding. So I have everything under control.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll send you a Facebook invite!” I cried, jammed my finger on the END CALL button, and tossing the phone against the wall.

  Great. I’d hoped to keep the wedding a secret from my parents for as long as possible. They could throw a huge spanner in the works. They were the ones who had to believe in my marriage to Robbie, or they’d contest the will and get their hands on Primrose House.

  My only chance of convincing them I was serious was to keep them as far away from Robbie as possible, but I guess that was wistful thinking. She’d never stop hounding me until I took Robbie to meet her. Yikes. Poor guy.

  I glanced at him again. Elinor was cleaning his arm, ready to do his tattoo. He bit his lip, his eyes darting nervously to my gun sitting on top of my power unit. I didn’t blame him; if I had tattoos that looked half as bad as his, I’d be nervous about being inked, too.

  I grabbed the towel and dried my hands furiously. Elinor’s wrong. Robbie’s totally fine. He’d have said something if he wasn’t. Elinor’s just overreacting because she doesn’t like the fact that I’m getting married before her. Everyone doesn’t understand that just because they’ve all paired off into happy couples, that doesn’t have to be the way everyone else is.

  I’ll talk to Robbie, lay everything out for him, make sure we’re still on the same page. That’s the right thing to do. I can still keep the house. It’ll be totally fine.

  Satisfied, I tossed down the towel, and pulled on another pair of sterile gloves. Time to ink some wolves.

  4

  Robbie

  Ryan’s butler, Simon, flung the huge oak door of Raynard Hall open before I’d even rung the bell. “You are late,” he said.

  “I ken.”

  I’d gone back to Marcus’ after the tattoo session, my head spinning from contact with the needle. Only Bianca’s presence at my elbow prevented me from passing out. I’d barely even glanced at the beautiful job she’d done, incorporating two of my crappy tattoos into a perfectly-shared howling wolf, turning my embarrassing ink into a work of art.

  At Marcus’, I ate an entire block of Cadbury chocolate and three beers and passed out on the couch. I woke up to find the house empty and a note from Marcus pinned to my chest.

  LEFT ALREADY. TRIED TO WAKE YOU UP BUT YOU BIT ME. GET YOUR ARSE TO THE HALL ASAP.

  Ten minutes later, I was standing on the ornate stone steps of Raynard Hall. Simon gave me a disapproving glare as he held the door open for me. I leapt inside and kicked off my boots, then followed Simon down the twisting halls to Ryan’s personal drawing room. Even though I lived in the hall ever since I arrived in Crookshollow, I still got lost amongst the twisting hallways without Simon’s guidance.

  Ryan looked up when I entered. The men in our pack sat around the drawing room in Raynard Hall. The only women present were Alex – dressed in a paint-splattered shift – and Anna, Luke’s wife, who was cradling their two-month-old son Colin in her lap.

  “The other girls have gone to watch America’s Next Top Model, and eat the rest of my ice cream,” Ryan said, his drawn expression clearly indicating what he thought of their activities. My stomach rumbled. Personally, a little ice cream wouldn’t go amiss.

  There was also one non-pack member present – a man I’d been taught to regard as an enemy my whole life, but now had to consider an ally. Irvine Baird sat next to Caleb, his long legs draped over the side of Ryan’s couch like he owned the place. His eyes narrowed when they met mine, and I glared back. I reminded myself that Caleb trusted Irvine, and as my alpha, I had to trust Caleb. But it was hard.

  Irvine’s eyes burned into my back as I crossed the room. Clearly, his old animosity for the Maclean pack still bubbled close to the surface as well.

  I searched the room for a seat, but all the chairs had been taken. No one seemed to notice my lack of a seat. In my father’s pack, one of the women or the visiting wolf would have got up for me. Here, the pack dynamic was so different. These guys had come together as friends, and most of them had known each other for months or years before I showed up. They were all mated pairs, and Bianca and I were the only loners. We were afterthoughts, hangers-on. It didn’t bother Bianca because she didn’t give a shit what people thought of her.

  It sure bothered me. I’d given up my identity, my whole life, to be here. No one seemed to even remember that. Apart from Marcus and Caleb and Bianca, no one had bothered to try to get to know me. No one asked about my previous life. They didn’t invite me over for a beer or bring me free treats from their bakery. My arm stung from the needle. The dressing Bianca applied rustled under my shirt as I found myself a seat on the floor by the fire.

  My head still spun from the tattooing earlier. It had taken every ounce of self-control I had to keep my cool while Bianca came at me with that needle. Even then, she kept telling me to relax and unclench my fists. The ordeal was over, but its consequences had only just begun: I was now permanently tied to this pack, and I wasn’t sure they’d accepted me yet.

  “Now that we’re all here, I can tell you my news,” Ryan said, dumping a stack of photocopies on the table. Everyone scrambled to grab one. There weren’t enough copies, and I didn’t get one. Alex held hers out so I could read over her shoulder – it showed scans of several illuminated manuscript pages. My eyes blurred over just gazing at the text. I guessed it was Latin, but I didn’t really know.

  No one else seemed fazed by the strange pages. Panic rose in my chest. Everyone in this room was intelligent. Most of them had university degrees or loving parents who taught them things like medieval history and multiplication tables and reading. I only had my mother, who was a learned lady herself but had to contend with my father’s temper and vast mistrust of education. He never cared about Caleb, since he wasn’t his son, so he got all the books, but Angus and I got our schooling in the brutal world of shifter crime, learning the ins and outs of the drug trade, and as a result, I knew exactly how to smuggle weapons but I could barely read English, and the idea of these guys finding out that I was illiterate made my stomach turn—

  “Pay attention, Robbie.” Alex jabbed my arm. I snapped my head up, trying to figure out what I’d missed.

  “—spent the week down in London, sitting at a cramped desk in the British Museum Reading Room to see what I could dig up on the ring. Luckily, the librarians believed my story about research for a new painting, so I was able to see some rare manuscripts held in their archive, and they allowed me to bring these images back without any hassle. I’ve found something that has a direct bearing on our search for the Benedict Ring. Obviously, what I’m showing you now doesn’t go beyond this room.”

  Ryan held up the first page. The black-and-white image depicted a cloaked woman with a pack of wolves. They walked together through a forest of tall, twisted trees. Slanted eyes glared at them from between the branches. Ryan jabbed his finger at the text flowing down the opposite page. “This is another retelling of the Benedict Ring legend. These accounts come from the monastery that was once part of Crooks Worthy. This story begins the same as the others, but it has an interesting divergence.”

  I stared at the page, pretending to be absorbed in the words as Ryan continued.

  “According to the story we’ve all heard, about three hundred years ago a powerful witch had possession of the ring, and she was in love with the Lowe alpha. The witch hunters were closing in on Croo
kshollow, and she knew she’d soon be accused and killed. Rather than have the ring fall into the hands of the witch hunters, she gave the ring to her lover. According to the accounts in Clara’s books, the alpha feared the power of the ring would corrupt his pack. So instead of using it, he hid the ring in the family caves, where it eventually fell out of memory.” Ryan turned the page, showing another scan of medieval Latin. “Here, the monk who wrote down this legend tells a different story.

  “In this retelling, the alpha wolf kept the ring on his person, and tried to use its power only for good. However, he had three sons who knew about the existence of the ring. They each had plans on how they would use the power, once they had their hands on it. They grew so hungry for the ring that it corrupted them, until they contemplated a terrible crime. The father, knowing that his sons were conspiring to kill him, and that they would use the ring for ill purposes, passed it to the Crooks Worthy monks for safekeeping. As predicted, the sons murdered their father, but they could not find the ring. Their crime was in vain.”

  Caleb’s mouth pursed as he listened to Ryan’s tale. He and Luke exchanged a pained glance. I understood why – as the only members of this pack who actually claimed Lowe blood, they didn’t like to think of their ancestors committing patricide. I could relate to that. My family legacy was pretty wretched, too.

  “The ring was trusted to one particular monk, a Brother Simon. Years turned into decades, and the ring was passed down from brother to brother, eventually landing in the hands of the monk who wrote this text, Brother Bartholomew.”

  “Does he say where it is?” Caleb leaned forward, glaring at the page as though if he thought hard enough he’d be able to decipher it. Which, probably he could. Caleb always had that easy intelligence that picked up facts and figures without a worry. A streak of jealousy coursed through me.

  Ryan shook his head. “But the next page does.”

  Papers shuffled as everyone flipped the page over. I leaned over Alex’s arm, straining to discern what I was looking at. It appeared to be a list of names in a ledger, with dates and other notations next to them.

  “This is a ledger from the monastery, and it’s written in Middle English, so those of us who can’t read Latin will probably pick up a few of the words.”

  Not bloody likely, I fumed, staring at the squiggles on the page, willing them to form meaning.

  “The monks kept track of the arrival of new brothers, dates the monks took their vows, and other details. Turns out, the monastery was closed in 1745 when the order decided to consolidate assets. The brothers were sent to other monasteries. Some, like Brother Bartholomew, left the order altogether.”

  Ryan indicated everyone should flip to the next page.

  “Robbie, could you not lean your chin on my thigh,” Alex said, as she smoothed out the new image. “It’s quite sharp.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I scooted back, my face flushing with heat. Ryan shot me a dirty look before continuing.

  “This is a deed showing some land sold in Crookshollow. Quite a lot of land, in fact – several large farms. It looks like our monk took the name Bartholomew Winthorpe, and married himself into the nobility. His wife came with this land.”

  “That Lothario,” Irvine smirked.

  “Yeah, I can’t believe it, either. Why would a noble woman want to marry a monk? But it’s right here in the records. Now, obviously this land has been divided up since then. It’s practically the whole town, and it even incorporates Raynard Hall and most of its original holdings. Back then, this family would have been one of the most powerful landowners in the county. I’ve had a look into Raynard Hall’s records, but unfortunately many of them were destroyed by my grandfather, so we don’t have much to go on there. It’s my belief that we should continue our search for the ring in their home and property, if we can identify them.”

  “You reckon the monk took the ring with him, and passed it down through his new family?” Cole asked.

  “Look at that map. This family was pretty damn powerful back in the day. That could have been a result of the ring’s power.”

  “It’s definitely worth looking into,” Anna said, holding baby Colin over her shoulder and rubbing his back so he burped. “If the Winthorpes are as powerful as you say, they won’t be difficult to locate. I can help with the local research. I’ve done plenty of this type of work for my degree.”

  “Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves? How do we know this story is even true?” Irvine demanded.

  “We don’t. They could both be true, or neither of them,” Ryan said. “That’s the problem with treasure hunting from these kind of sources. But we have to try.”

  “It’s better than bashing through those muddy tunnels,” Marcus piped up.

  The room buzzed with excitement as everyone started talking at once. An idea started to form in my head. Finding the Benedict Ring was the most important task for the pack right now. Caleb may have said he accepted me, but that didn’t mean the pack had, not yet. If I could find out where the ring was, maybe even lay hands on it first, then I’d instantly be accepted. Everyone would treat me the way they treated everyone else. They’d be my real family.

  “I want to help,” I said.

  No one acknowledged me. Ryan, Irvine, Anna, and Caleb were all shouting over each other. Alex shuffled through the papers, frowning at the ancient images. Eric and Cole bent their heads together, their lips moving through rapid discussion.

  I stood up, cleared my throat, and spoke again, “I want to help.”

  The room fell silent. Heads rolled toward me, eyes focusing on me.

  “I’d like to volunteer to help with the research,” I said, fixing my gaze on Caleb. “I really want to help find the ring.”

  “Um … Robbie. Why is this so important to you?” Alex asked, her words stinging.

  “Yeah.” Irvine’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you care so much about the ring?”

  “Because I’m part of this pack,” I said, glaring at Irvine. “You guys took me away from the Macleans and all the shit that was going on there. You trusted someone from the outside with this huge secret. I want to show you I’m worthy of that trust. If the ring is important to you, then I will find it.”

  “Surely Anna would be a better choice?” Alex asked. “She’s doing her masters, so she knows how to conduct historical research. Robbie, I don’t mean to sound like a bitch, but have you even been in a library before?”

  Her words weren’t meant to be cruel, but they made a deep flush creep up my back and flood my face. I kept my head down, hoping no one had noticed it. “Of course I have. It’s the place with all the books, right? Anna and I could work together. I can do all the grunt work, and she can be the one pointing me in the right direction.”

  “That actually would be quite good,” Anna piped up, bouncing baby Colin on her knee. “I can’t exactly work for hours in the library with this little guy.”

  Caleb sighed. “Fine. Robbie, I’m putting you in charge of leading the local investigation.”

  “But—” Luke started, but Caleb held up his hand.

  “Please use the expertise around you. Anna will be of invaluable help, and Ryan would probably also be useful, as he’s done all the London research. I expect daily updates.” His eyes met mine. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  I rubbed my arm, where the sting of my tattoo still itched my skin. “I won’t.”

  5

  Bianca

  “Down there.” I jabbed my finger at the windshield. “Turn left!”

  Obediently, Robbie yanked the wheel hard around, and we managed to swing into the drive without hitting the ornate iron gate. Robbie groaned as the Lada’s wing mirror clipped the stone gate post, and clattered to the ground.

  “Flippin’ wonderful,” he moaned as the back wheel crunched over the mirror.

  “Hey, I think it’s an improvement. Gives you more manoeuvring room without that ugly thing sticking at the side of the car.”

  “All the people
in this car who dinnae drive can shut up now.”

  Grinning, I slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll buy you a new one, husband. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Aye, damn right.”

  I stared out the window, in awe of this beautiful property that would soon be mine. A wrought-iron arch over the gate depicted the house’s name: PRIMROSE HOUSE. Silver birch branches scraped along the roof of the car. The trees tangled together over our heads, creating a tunnel of foliage so dense and knotted, I couldn’t see anything beyond the bend in the drive ahead. A few hazels mixed in with the birch, their nuts littering the ditch on either side of the drive. I imagined sculptures hidden in the trees, Chinese lanterns strung from the branches, leading the way to an artistic sanctuary. We turned the corner, and I gasped.

  Primrose House rose up in front of us; a grand old lady, bedecked in the lace of early Victorian grandeur. A wide porch circled half the house, white lattice details framing the house like a delicate lace petticoat. The roof jutted out at stark angles, punctuated by grand dormer windows. The turret dominated the front facade, leading my eye up to that gorgeous hidden balcony. Immaculate boxed gardens lined a pebble path leading up to the sweeping steps.

  “Wow,” Robbie said, his gaze leaping across the house before focusing on the turret.

  “Yeah.” I grinned, leaping out of the car before it came to a complete stop.

  Last time I’d been inside this house, I was fifteen. My mother and I weren’t speaking (which wasn’t unusual), but she forced me into the car for our monthly visit with Grandmother June. June started the evening by telling me I was to take my nose ring off at the table, then refusing to allow me to eat after I removed the stud but replaced it with an enormous spike. I stormed out of the gate, called my then-girlfriend Sally-Sandy-Sarah-something to come pick me up, and spent the rest of the night smoking weed and snogging up at the Witches Cemetery. Mother kicked me out a few weeks later and I hadn’t spoken to my grandmother since.