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

by Steffanie Holmes

  By the time Willow got up to leave, her hand had cramped up from all her note-taking, and her face looked pale and slightly terrified. I couldn’t help grinning as I walked her out to her car, letting my hand linger on her arm longer than necessary. If she could pull this off, then she really would have proved herself as a wedding planner extraordinaire, royal shindig or not.

  And damn, was she still gorgeous. But I knew she wasn’t comfortable enough around me yet to make any kind of move.

  Since I technically had the day off, I decided to go see how Robbie was getting on with his pack assignment. He’d looked pretty nervous when he left Primrose House last night. I thought back to what he’d said about not having an education, about how he’d handed me that scrapbook filled with cursive writing, his excitement hiding the pained expression that told me he had no idea what it was about. If he didn’t know the first thing about the Victorian period, how was he going to handle the hardcore library research needed to find a location for that ring?

  I dragged my bicycle out from where I’d chained it to a down pipe behind the shop, and started pedalling toward the high street. I stopped in at Bewitching Bites and picked up some treats for Robbie and Anna. With the box of treats nestled in the basket, I biked over to Crooks Crossing, and texted Robbie to meet me outside the University Library. He stepped outside as I was locking up my bike, squinting into the English sun like he hadn’t seen it for months. He took the box gratefully.

  “Find anything yet?” I asked, watching him devour a Cornish pastie in a few bites.

  “Not a thing, but I’m only just starting. Anna’s found some old maps of the country, and a registry of landowners in the area. But without an exact year for the sale, it’s taking a long time to trawl through.”

  “Do you need any help? I’ve got the day off on account of our exciting night last night.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m fine.” He took out a beautiful buttery scone slathered in jam and clotted cream, and pulled it into two pieces. He handed me a piece with fingers splattered with sticky jam.

  “In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have brought you jammy treats when you’re dealing with archival material all day.” I took the scone, and bit into the delicious buttery treat. Bloody hell, that Belinda was a good baker. “I wanted to tell you all about our wedding plans. It’s going to be amazing.”

  “You’ve planned the whole wedding already?”

  “Not the whole wedding, but I had the perfect idea for the venue. It’s going to be at Primrose House. It’ll be perfect – one huge crazy party to celebrate the opening of the art house. We’ll have bands, performers, living art, amazing food, a crazy out-of-control masquerade ball. And we’ll say our vows right there in the ballroom. I want you to carry a sword. And, get this, I reckon we should get our celebrant to dress as the Pope—”

  Robbie laughed. “Who ever thought you’d be so excited about a wedding, Bianca Sinclair?”

  I jabbed him in the arm. “You’re very lippy for a man who’s getting a free place to stay.”

  As my knuckles grazed his skin, that weird tingling sensation rolled up my arm again. Robbie stepped closer, his hand reaching up to my cheek. He wiped a strand of hair from across my eye. “You okay?” he asked, his voice serious. “You look like you havenae slept a wink.”

  “I couldn’t sleep with Silvia’s scrapbook waiting to be read.” I launched into a description of everything I’d read, how Silvia and Hattie had been lovers and how Silvia had left the book in Hattie’s secret cupboard.

  Robbie licked his fingers, and handed me back the box. “I should probably get back. Anna will be getting cranky. Once I’m alone, I’ll see if I can find anything about that earl she married.”

  “You’re a good man, Robbo.” I clapped him on the shoulder, and swung my leg over my bike.

  8

  Robbie

  All morning, Anna had been fretting about leaving her son with the babysitter, so as soon as I returned from seeing Bianca, I told her she should leave me alone to continue the research. She dashed off without even saying goodbye.

  I stared down at my corral in dismay. The tiny desk was piled high with archive boxes, indecipherable maps, and a giant ledger filled with tiny cursive print that might as well have been Sanskrit for all the sense it made to me. I stared at the words on the map open in front of me, but the letters swarmed and blurred in front of my eyes, just lines on the page, devoid of meaning. My temple throbbed. A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead.

  How the hell was I going to find this ring? Why had I volunteered for this job? I had an app on my phone that could scan text and read it back to me, but when I tried it on the old documents, it wouldn’t recognise the text. I’d have to read every word myself, which was going at a pace that would make ice ages seem speedy.

  I’m an idiot. When Caleb found out that I could barely read – which he would inevitably discover when I failed to deliver any coherent information – he’d be pissed that I’d wasted the pack’s time when there were plenty of other more qualified people who could have done the research.

  I glared at the map, hoping somehow the letters would form themselves into a pattern I could understand. A word jumped out at me … I sounded it out. S. I. N. C. L. A. I. R … Sinclair. Bianca’s last name.

  That wasn’t surprising. With a fancy home like Primrose House, and a family that had been in Crookshollow for generations, they were bound to appear on some of these old records. I traced my finger around the property line on the map. Interesting. In the late 1700s when these maps were made, the Sinclairs owned most of Crookshollow. They must have sold off a lot of that land over the years, because Bianca’s property was only five acres of forest and the house.

  The story Bianca had told me about Silvia and Hattie spun in my head. I decided to put the ring research aside for the moment, and focus on Bianca’s mysterious ancestor, the unique Silvia Sinclair and her lover, the wild maid Hattie.

  From what Silvia said in her scrapbook, it sounded like her mother or father pushed Hattie down the stairs. Bianca wanted to know if either of them were ever tried or convicted of manslaughter. If I could discover that, maybe I could count at least one victory for the day.

  Even though I now knew how to search the archives from watching Anna, it took me a long time to locate the historic records that dealt with crimes in that era from amongst the hand-labelled boxes in the climate-controlled room. My eyes were watering by the time I finally pulled out the right ledger – court records from the 1830s – when Silvia lived in Crookshollow.

  The librarian told me that back in Silvia’s day, there wasn’t an established, organised police force – town authorities would employ constables to keep the peace. It was largely up to the lords to judge crimes committed on their land by their tenants, and to preside over and make judgements. Luckily for me, they kept diligent records.

  Spurned on by the promise of Bianca’s smile, I squinted at the words in the ledger, spelling each letter aloud. The work was agonisingly slow, but just as I was about to give up, the name Sinclair jumped out at me again.

  In a notebook written by one of the Raynard Lords – Ryan’s ancestors, I realised – I discovered what I was looking for. The Lord Raynard had visited the Sinclair’s home to look over the death of a servant. But he wasn’t there in the capacity of landowner. He was a friend, lending his shoulder to Silvia’s mother, Matilda Sinclair. It took me a long time to figure out all the words, but I learned that Matilda was:

  “the most formidable woman, who owned all of the county. Even much of our own property was bequeathed to us in marriage from her own estate. The Sinclair name is fascinating, for their family has a truly unique history. Matilda’s ancestor married a monk – Bartholomew Winthorpe – who had left the Crooks Worthy monastery to pursue a secular life. As the monk had no fortune, and his name had no weight in the community, he instead took his wife’s name. Thus, the land she brought to the marriage remained under Sinclair.”

&n
bsp; Holy shit.

  My heart pounded so hard, I was sure the librarian would come over to tell me to tone it down. I had it, right there in front of me. The answer I’d been searching for. This document explained why I couldn’t find any land owned by the Winthorpe family. The Sinclairs had the land under their own name.

  But that means … that means Bianca’s family … they have the ring.

  I tried to call Bianca immediately to tell her the news, but the librarian gave me a stern look and tapped her red fingernails on the NO PHONES sign above her desk. Sighing, I left the archival boxes open on my corral, and dashed outside.

  “Urrgh,” Bianca groaned, her voice croaking. “I hate you.”

  “Headache getting better, then?”

  “I was sleeping. The phone is loud.”

  “Set it to silent.”

  “Urrggh. I hate you. This better be important.”

  “It is.” I told her what I discovered. “Can you believe it? All this time, we’ve been crawling around in those caves, when your family are the ones who had the ring all along. It might even be at Primrose House.”

  “I can’t believe it. You’d have thought if this heirloom was so valuable and precious, I’d have known about it.”

  “Your mother has never dug it out to wear at some fancy occasion?”

  “If that ring looks anything like the description, my mother wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something so garish. It’s much more my style. After we have dinner with my parents, you’ll learn exactly why.”

  “When is that again?”

  “Tomorrow night. I apologise in advance.”

  “I don’t mind, really.” I didn’t. Bianca had talked about her parents – especially her mother – in excruciating detail for so many months, I was kind of curious to meet them in the flesh. They couldn’t be as bad as my dad. At least they’d never threatened Bianca with violence if she didn’t commit armed robbery. How bad could they possibly be?

  “We’re going to have to convince them we’re really a couple. And not just a couple of people floating around the same house without ever having a real conversation, like them. They have to believe you’re a guy I really would marry, which basically means you have to totally piss them off. If we’re not woefully inappropriate, they won’t believe I really like you.”

  “Define ‘woefully inappropriate’?”

  “I don’t know, snogging on the steps, pilfering silver teaspoons, pissing on a Chippendale chair. It would also really help if you showed up stoned, with a black eye.”

  “I’ll get right on that.” I hit the END button. Talking to Bianca always made me smile. Once again, I wished like hell she felt the same way.

  Soon, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Even though I knew it was stupid, I still couldn’t help but hope that maybe she’d see me as more than a friend. She was planning our wedding, after all. Love is in the air, and all that …

  But it was a forlorn hope. I stared down at my mobile phone, deflated. Try not to focus on it. Even if Bianca never realises she’s your fated mate, at least you have her in your life, and the rest of the pack, too. At least you don’t have to break the law in order to earn respect. At least you’ve managed to contribute something useful to your new family.

  I quickly called Caleb and told him what I’d discovered. He whistled. “That’s awesome. Thanks, Robbie. I’ll call Ryan and tell him. He’ll be stoked his research has led us this much closer, and that it was a member of his family who gave us the final clue!”

  I gritted my teeth. Of course Ryan would get credit for this. Ryan was rich and influential in the shifter community.

  I clicked off the phone and went back inside. As I entered the reading room, I noticed a man leaning over my desk. I rushed over, thinking it was a librarian putting away my archive boxes. As I got closer, I saw the man shuffling through the maps and files, getting them all out of order and mixing up the different boxes. I’d have a hard time putting everything back.

  “Excuse me.” I tapped his shoulder. “I’m still using those—”

  The man looked up, his eyes blazing across my face. I staggered back as I recognised him. Rolf Hermann, rising alpha of the Wulfric pack – a notorious German gang who’d clashed heads with the Macleans in numerous occasions.

  Five years ago, Rolf came to Aberdeen to intercept a shipment of weapons his clan wanted for some work they were doing in London. As my first big solo job, Dad sent me to nick the same treasure. I managed to pick up one of the cases, but Rolf sidelined me, beat me to a pulp, and took it. I had to go back to Dad empty handed, and he beat me some more, basically told me I was useless and a disgrace to the Maclean name. I still had a long scar across my stomach to testify to his brutality. Rolf had taken the prize and ever since then, he’d been spreading around shifter circles that the Macleans were weaklings.

  And now he was here, in Crookshollow, snooping through my stuff.

  “What are you doing here?” I growled, my cheeks flaring with heat.

  He cast a wide smile. “Relax, Robbo. This is a public place. You do not need to raise your voice.”

  “Why are you in Crookshollow? Are you following me?” Did you not humiliate me enough back in Aberdeen? Do you need to come here to finish the job with my new pack?

  “I could not give a fuck about you, you useless worm.” His eyes flashed. “I am here to meet with Irvine.”

  “Here? In this library?”

  Rolf grinned wider. “I am not familiar with the customs of your new pack, but I assume I’m not expected to reveal plans to lowly wolves?”

  I grabbed the book from his hand, placing my body in front of the corral, trying to block him from looking at my work. “Stay away from me.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Rolf grinned again, as he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. I glared after him, my blood boiling.

  Why is he here, now, to meet with Irvine? As quickly as I could, I shoved the archive material back into the boxes, not caring if it was right or not. There was no way I could deal with any more reading for the day. My blood pounded in my ears, as I thought about what it could possibly mean that Rolf had decided to show up now, and that he was here to see Irvine, not Caleb.

  Was Irvine up to something?

  9

  Bianca

  Breathe. Just breathe. It’ll be fine. You’ll be out of here in three hours, and you can go home and scrub the horrible scent of your mother’s disapproval from your clothes, and you don’t have to see them again for another two years …

  Ever since Mother called demanding I bring Robbie over to meet them, I’d been plotting and scheming how to make tonight go off exactly the way I wanted it. But now that I was actually here, standing beneath the pillars of my parent’s grand Georgian home – not quite as large as Primrose House, but infinitely more intimidating because of who was waiting inside – all my childhood terror came rushing back.

  “You okay?” Robbie tapped my shoulder, his freshly-shaved face twisted in concern. “You’ve gone all pale.”

  I nodded, taking a moment to look him over. He’d scrubbed up really well. Instead of his usual dark t-shirt and holey jeans, he was wearing black dress pants and a red shirt he’d borrowed from Marcus. Even his normal woody scent was disguised with cologne. His leather jacket crinkled as he placed a protective arm around my shoulders. The edges of his lower sleeve tats peeked out from the cuffs of the jacket.

  My mother would not fail to notice them, or his buzzed prison-style hair, or the fact that he hadn’t attended a public school. She was going to hate him on sight, which was exactly what I wanted. I just hated that it would make tonight excruciating for us both.

  I rubbed the goosebumps on my arms, naked in my tight black body-con dress. I stared down at the beautiful ink that told the story of my life. As soon as that door opened, the stream of vitriol would begin. You look like a prostitute. You bring shame on the Sinclair family name. After everything we gave you, you threw
it all away to live in squalor and play with needles …

  “Bianca? Do you want to just flag it? We could go back to your flat and—”

  “We should ring the bell,” I said. I didn’t move.

  This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t be nervous. I’m not even introducing them to a real boyfriend, er … fiancé. This is all in aid of getting the house. If they don’t believe Robbie and I are for real, they’ll contest the will. I don’t care if they like him, I don’t care what they think of me. All that matters is that they think Robbie and I are madly in love.

  I reached up and rang the bell. As the sound of Pachelbel's Canon in D Major echoed through the house, I grabbed Robbie’s face and pulled him down, pressing my lips on his. He reacted with surprise, then returned the kiss with vigour. His tongue slid into my mouth, toying with my tongue piercing. I ran my fingers over his face, forcing him closer.

  The kiss was just supposed to shock my mother when she opened the door. I didn’t expect the shiver of delight that coursed through my body – a flame of desire that arced from my lips straight between my legs. Whoah. I hadn’t felt this kind of intense desire from a kiss in a long time, especially not from a guy, and especially not a guy I wasn’t keen on in that way.

  Robbie’s tongue slid over mine, expertly coaxing out the minx in me. My fingers closed around the back of his neck, and I pressed my body against his, my skin itching for his touch. Where’s all this lust this come from? Why does he make my body light up like this? Goddamn, but I want him so bad right now—

  Behind Robbie, the door creaked open.