 
# Dark Wolf

### Shifters of Dundaire 1

## Angelique Armae

DARK WOLF

Shifters of Dundaire 1

By: Angelique Armae

Publisher: Summerborne Books, LLC

Copyright © 2016 Josephine Piraneo

ISBN: 978-1-942346-04-3 (eBook)

ISBN: 978-1-942346-11-1 (Print)

Cover by Josephine Piraneo

Formatting by Glass Slipper WebDesign

Cover photos from Adobe Stock & Hot Damn Stock

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, organizations and events described herein are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher excerpt for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at aarmae@angeliquearmae.com.

### Contents

Shifters of Dundaire Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Author's Note

CHRISTMAS WOLF

About the Author & Newsletter
**Shifters of Dundaire Series**

* * *

DARK WOLF

CHRISTMAS WOLF

VIKING WOLF

HIGHLAND WOLF

RETURN OF THE WOLF

BLOOD WOLF (The Prequel)

# 1

_New Orleans, Louisiana._

Weddings were not his thing.

Callen MacHendrie, heir to Scotland's oldest shapeshifter clan, stood on the balcony of his uncle Mortimer's St. Charles Avenue mansion, and thanked his lucky stars for having fled the ballroom in the nick of time. A second longer and that high-as-a-kite D.J. his uncle had hired would have had him ushered onto the dance floor along with all the other unmated shifters.

Talk about being clueless.

Even omegas knew you didn't crowd horny wolves and lusty vamps into a pint-sized space. Music alone could turn the deadest of the undead into wanton creatures. Toss into the mix a few shit-faced feral shifters and you'd soon have an all-out howl fest on your hands.

He shook his head and tried to erase the perverse images from his mind. At least he wouldn't have to deal with that nonsense tonight as he'd be half-way to Dundaire before whatever racket was to come, broke loose. Deciding to leave early and take the redeye to Glasgow was the smartest move he'd made all week.

He leaned on his cane and stepped forward, allowed himself distance from the wedding guests.

The steady beat of music drummed at his ears as the odor of musk coupled with sweat, tempted his nose.

_Damn D.J._

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what it was like to dance. To get close enough to a female who wanted to be near him for the sheer pleasure of it, rather than having been paid to do it or having been forced into it by a clan elder who only wanted to marry her off solely for the status of being a future-alpha's in-law.

He hadn't danced in centuries. And today's moves were light-years away from the ones he'd been taught back in Medieval Scotland.

His chest constricted.

The familiar hand of loneliness settled in his heart, left him with an emptiness that couldn't be filled even by a massive crowd of people.

And like always, it slowly ate away at his soul, sucked up whatever pleasure he'd sought from life. But it never touched the anger he'd harbored deep in his gut all these centuries.

Nope.

Wouldn't even sample a fucking ounce of the damn emotion.

_Frickin' curse_.

He was never going to escape the hex embedded in his thigh as no woman with hopes of a marrying a future alpha would want a beta who couldn't support or protect his own men. Leading a pack of wolves was never going to happen for him. Which was why he had better get used to the pitiful station of remaining a bachelor because his status wasn't going to change.

Ever.

Callen opened his eyes and turned back toward the ballroom.

The scent of blood mixed with gardenia danced on the air, forced his gaze to settle on the small horde of female vamps gathered at the open double-doors. At least five of them crowded into the space, their shimmering short dresses sparkling in the beam of moonlight cutting across the terrace.

They were a fetching bunch, even if they weren't wolves, which got him thinking. All these centuries he'd focused his romantic efforts solely on female wolves when mating with a vampire didn't go against any law. At least none that were written in stone. And with a bloodsucker he didn't need to lead a pack, so the hex on his leg shouldn't be viewed as a detriment to the marriage. Nor should his wolf lineage, as he did have vampire in him as his own mother had come from a mixed family.

The notion nagged at his brain. Maybe he'd been looking at this marriage thing wrong all these years.

Straightening his shoulders, he stood tall and let off the cane a bit. Being a six-foot-four wolf with a six-pack ab, decent face, and a damn good head of hair, had to count for something. Just his leg wasn't right. But who said a wounded leg was everything?

One of the fang girls, a knock-out in a ruby red dress, ran her tongue over her glossy lipstick-clad lips.

God, what he'd give for a simple kiss with a woman like that. To hold her close, his hand at the small of her back, his lips brushing against hers, his ears taking in the slight whimper she'd make as he'd deepen their tango of tongues.

His palm slipped from the cane's handle.

_Shit_.

Sucking in a deep breath, he steadied himself.

His admirers hadn't seemed to notice as they continued to make eyes at him.

He still had a chance.

_I can do this_.

Stepping forward, he offered what he'd prayed was his most enticing smile as he wouldn't mind courting any of the women.

The perky blond.

The mysterious brunette.

The vibrant redhead. He always did have a sweet spot for spitfires.

As if reading his mind, the woman winked at him.

His cheeks warmed.

He hadn't flirted in years.

He took another step.

He should have done this ages ago.

His foot slipped.

In an instant, the star-filled sky flipped and fell out of view.

His cane flew through the air, its wolf-head tip crashing against the ballroom door.

Glass shattered.

He landed on his ass and grimaced.

_Another fucking fall_.

A gaggle of giggles reached his ears.

Heat fanned his cheeks and it had nothing to do with blushing.

Humiliation crept through his nerves.

The pity he'd garnered this morning with the whole tripping at the altar fiasco apparently wasn't enough shame for one day. What best man falls flat on his face when doing the simple task of handing the groom the wedding ring? In a normal situation, that wouldn't even be possible. But he wasn't normal. In fact, there wasn't a single normal thing about this life, for not only did he have a bum leg, he had a bum leg embedded with a curse that has a mind of its own. The hex he endured didn't act in any sensible way.

He ignored the laughs coming from the ballroom and stretched for his cane. Grabbing the silver stick, he pushed himself up and then brushed off his jacket, his hand discovering a tear in the tuxedo's left cuff. _Bloody fucking leg_.

He glared ahead, eyed the group of women laughing at him from inside the ballroom.

A howl rose in his throat.

He snarled.

_Down boy_. _Those chits are more than likely half-drunk and don't realize what they're doing. Don't take their laughs to heart._

He wiped the sneer from his lips.

His wolf settled back down, but not before giving up a low grunt.

_I know you're hurt. But we must deal with it_.

The wolf snickered.

His gaze lingered at the open double doors.

The women quickly scooted away.

Gathering his senses, he retreated in the other direction. He limped forward, his right thigh throbbing. The curse festering in his leg always grew worse at night and summer's sticky heat only escalated the discomfort. Not that it took much to intensify. These periodic flare-ups were a bitch.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus elsewhere, but the pain only made him reflect on the bastard at the core of his agony.

_Jarle_.

He'd give anything to meet up with the vile Viking witch who had cursed him, left him to live in torment for a thousand years. But his sources were always one step behind the bastard.

He rubbed the back of his neck, worked out the kink that was starting to knot.

A warm breeze carried across the balcony.

Callen headed toward the balustrade. He leaned heavily on his cane now, forced his palm down on the snarling wolf head topping the silver walking stick. The beast roared to life, its sharp teeth nipping at his flesh.

His wolf hadn't been this agitated in months.

_Down boy._

The normally inanimate ornament at the top of his cane, stilled.

He might not have a wolf pack that wanted him as leader, but he'd always have his trusted sword and its magick-infused scabbard-turned-cane that contained one-half of his wolf's soul. Even hexed, the blade remained loyal to him.

As he walked, a low howl emanated from the wolf head under his palm.

Callen stopped mid-stride and lifted the stick. He gave the silver topper a good nudge, made sure it wasn't about to come loose and set free the energy infused in the hexed blade housed inside. His falling down like an imbecile—twice—had been enough chaos to ruin his uncle's wedding. He certainly didn't need to add to the man's day by unleashing his sword's tainted magick on the unsuspecting world.

Content, Callen returned the cane to his side and continued across the balcony.

At the marble balustrade, he rested, sucked in a gulp of warm, humid air.

Heat filled his lungs.

How in hell any vampire could stand living in a hot, muggy climate was beyond him. But his uncle Mortimer had come to favor this city. And as the man's eldest nephew, he too, would be spending a lot of time in New Orleans. Not that he didn't like the place. In truth, the city fascinated him, its centuries-old vibe of magick offered his soul an odd feel he couldn't quite explain. But the summer heat stifled him, irked the wolf in his soul, and for that reason alone he would never trade his beloved Highlands for any sunbaked metropolis. But he did have to stick it out a few more hours for Mortimer's sake. The man had gone above and beyond caring for him and his brothers after their mother died. No other vampire, despite being half-wolf, would have taken in a pack of pups and their widower wolf father. But his mother's brother did so without question. And for that, he owed the man.

Another stab of pain veined through his right thigh.

He huffed and leaned on his cane.

"You really need to have that looked at," His uncle Mortimer said from the other side of the balcony.

"And curse another being? Never."

The vampire appeared next to him. "It's not about managing the damn curse, Cal. It's about living. And I haven't seen you live in centuries."

A lecture wasn't what he needed now. "I'm fine. I haven't aged since the day I turned twenty-eight. And other than the leg hampering me a bit, I can do anything I did back then."

"You need a healer."

"We've had this conversation before and it's not going to change." The instant a supernatural doctor touched his leg, the energy created from that contact would disperse into the person working on his limb and they'd share his curse. "I will not have another soul suffer this pain."

"We don't know for sure if that will happen."

Mere words weren't enough of a guarantee. "Jarle warned me himself, that if manipulated, the curse can spread. It's the one time I believe the Viking spoke the truth. But even if he had lied, it's too risky to toy with another person's life. I can live with the pain."

"But you might be able to be free of it."

"Might. And that's not good enough. Besides, I canna just think of myself. If the curse _is_ capable of spreading to another soul once it's been manipulated, it might attack my brothers, my nephews, maybe even my father. I canna let that happen."

Mortimer remained silent. He leaned on the balustrade and folded his hands, gazed out at the lawn below.

Callen let out a deep breath. Now would be a good time to tell his uncle about going home to Dundaire. "I'm taking the redeye back to Scotland tonight."

"Why?"

"Rhys called earlier and said another batch of artifacts had arrived at Wolfsden this morning. Apparently, the excavations at your ruined castle are moving faster than either of us expected. And I need to get those items sorted. The sooner the better."

Mortimer pushed off the marble railing and placed his hand on Callen's shoulder. "That's fine. Let me know if your mother's locket is found. I'd love to see it again."

"Of course." He paused. He hadn't told his father he was returning to Dundaire yet. "Can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Tell my dad to stay here. He needs time away from Wolfsden and I don't want him to be combing through the items if they contain my mother's belongings. He's a sentimental old dog and I know it will be hard for him to see her things just tossed about. I want them cleaned up and organized in a meaningful way that's more than just a pile of stuff, before he takes a look at them."

The vampire nodded. "Don't worry about your father. I'll see to it he stays a few more days." Mortimer patted Callen's shoulder, then vanished.

His family had been through so much over the centuries, at least this trip to New Orleans ended with a celebration and not another disaster.

He checked his watch. He better get his ass in gear and off to the airport or he'd have one pissed off his pilot to deal with. Getting back to Dundaire, to Wolfsden Keep, would do him good.

Home was where he belonged.

Home was free of preternatural women who didn't want to have anything to do with him.

Home, at the moment, was free of the pack that didn't want a cursed, wounded future-alpha who couldn't lead them.

Home was safe.

And safe was exactly how he intended to spend the next week.

_Inverness, Scotland_

* * *

Miranda Kendrick studied the open silver locket resting on the work table's metal surface. It belonged to a broken heart, probably female, probably human. Why that mattered to her, she hadn't known, but her coven master, Jarle, had many slaves across the globe and the one whose heart aura was encased in this locket must have owed the witch a huge debt. Binding a heart twice wasn't the norm.

Jarle looked up from blending a batch of herbs and as usual when anger brewed in his soul, his gray eyes shifted to an inky black. "Is it still beating?"

"Yes." The pulsing aura filling the walnut-sized cavity in the locket emitted a low hum each time it thumped. The vibration tingled her fingers.

"Finish the deed before the twelfth beat or we'll lose the chance to double bind it. Once lost, you can't reclaim a heart."

She dropped a pea-sized piece of obsidian inside the locket, then added a few purple buds of French lavender.

"You're doing it all wrong." Jarle snatched the metal trinket from Miranda's hand and dragged it toward him. "You can't bind a heart with obsidian. The stone blocks negativity." He scowled. "Are you trying to betray me, slave?"

"Of course not." She lied.

He glared at her, his eyes now black as coal. "If I find out someone is paying you to break the spell on their heart, I'll triple the one on yours. Right now, I've only placed you under a protection spell to keep you safe. But I can change that to a curse that will keep you bound to me for eternity and then some."

She reached for the locket draped around her neck and rubbed its ornate raised pattern. The scent of tarnished silver assaulted her nose. Being bound to Jarle, even in the slightest way, was suffocating. Tripling those ties to him would no doubt choke whatever life she had left, out of her.

"You better brush up on your magick, slave, or I'll show you what it truly means to anger me. Is that clear?"

She nodded.

He flew across the table and grabbed her cheeks, dug his bony fingers into her flesh. "I didn't hear you."

Miranda's mouth ached, but she knew better than to keep silent. "Yes." The answer came out mumbled.

Jarle released her. "You're going north tomorrow." He finished binding the heart Miranda had been working on, then tossed the trinket back at her.

She scrambled to catch the thing before it bounced off the table. "Where to?"

"Dundaire. It isn't on any map, so you probably haven't heard of it. I'm sending you to Wolfsden Keep—the home of an old enemy of mine—under the pretense of being a university intern hired to catalogue recent archeological finds. He has something I want. And you're going to get it for me."

She didn't like doing Jarle's dirty work. "I've already paid my debt to you."

"Your debt will be erased when I say so."

"But I've been with you for two years. Surely that's long enough."

Jarle's nostrils flared, made her think of a raging bull homing in on a target that had nowhere to run.

She hated when he turned angry, especially when she was said target. But the mythical bull wasn't her only concern. Remnants of dark magick in the form of gray wispy matter, released from the Viking's aura and swarmed the room like angry bees whose hive had just been disturbed.

She ducked as a tendril of cursed energy came her way.

Jarle remained on his side of the table, the thin, front braids of his hair standing out as if charged by electricity.

Miranda straightened, then stepped back.

Silver beads from Jarle's braids slid down and bounced to the floor, freeing his hair, allowing the gray-streaked locks to fan out about his time-worn face. "I took you off that filthy New York street. Gave you a bed. Fed you. Cultivated your magick. How can you put a price on what I've done for you?"

Fear filled her veins. She'd never seen Jarle this angry. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. It's just I thought you'd free me by now."

"I own you, Miranda. And until I no longer have use for you, you'll do as I say, or your dirty little secret will be made public."

"That's blackmail."

"That's survival."

She couldn't have the details of that night Jarle had found her, getting out. Just thinking about the horrid state she'd been in back then, brought bile to her throat. From her malformed hands and feet that looked no different than a dog's paws, to the tail she swore she felt at her spine, to the high-pitched screech ringing in her ears. Never mind the pool of her own urine she'd been sitting in. Whatever the hell those scientists had done to her at that lab, it had been bad. No man had a right to do that to another human being. At least Jarle had fixed her limbs, made them look normal again. The man's team of plastic surgeons were geniuses. Even the screech in her ears had stopped.

"I can always send you back, Miranda. I'm sure those scientists would love to have their little experiment returned to them."

Her stomach knotted. "What do I need to do in Dundaire?"

The swirling gray energy emitting from Jarle's aura, retreated into his body. "You're a quick learner, slave." He smirked. "I want you to retrieve a sword."

"Give me specifics."

Jarle rounded the table and pulled a metal stool up next to her. The metallic smell of blood and raw meat fanned her face as he let out a deep breath. "It's nothing fancy. Thinner and much lighter than a claymore. And it might or might not have a hilt."

"So it may be just a blade?"

"Correct."

"Any identifying marks?"

"A curse is inscribed along its edge."

Great. Another vexed artifact. The last one had a living soul inside it and she hadn't a clue about that fact until she was half way back to Dover from Calais. Trying to conceal a wailing, shouting, tormented soul while on a ferry in the middle of the English Channel was no easy job. Water attracts spirits. And on that particular day a whole graveyard of ghosts followed the soul she was transporting. "Are they expecting me at this Wolfsden Keep?"

"Yes."

"And you're certain they'll accept me as an intern?"

"I see no reason why they won't as you're not an idiot. Plus you're a quick learner. Improvise when you must."

She didn't know a lot about cataloguing artifacts but doubted the job would prove difficult. "Do I need references or other papers?"

Jarle let out an exasperated breath. "For Odin's sake, woman, do you really think I wouldn't have covered all the basics? I settled the matter two weeks back when Wolfsden first put out word that they were looking for a student to help with recently discovered artifacts from a family dig site. You've proven good with Celtic objects in the past, so I notified one of my slaves at one of the universities. He arranged everything."

She hated getting involved in this whole sham business, but if the owner of Wolfsden was an enemy of Jarle's, then chances were the bastard wasn't an innocent soul. "How long will I be gone?"

"I want you back in a week."

That didn't give her much time.

Without further word on the matter, Jarle rose from the stool and headed for the door. As he moved, a whiff of grime mixed with body odor peeled from his soiled gray wool tunic and matching cotton slacks. The man hadn't washed in days.

She silently gagged, then wiped her sweaty palm across her thigh, the denim of her jeans scratching against her skin. "When I return, can we please discuss the terms of our agreement?" God, but she'd never been so bold in her life. She held her breath.

The witch came to a sudden halt. "Bring me the blade and I'll guarantee you'll be free of me."

"I'll get my passport back, too?"

Jarle glanced over his shoulder, his right eyebrow raised. "Why? Planning on going somewhere, slave?"

She wasn't sure. Jarle had taken her many places, from London to Paris to Stockholm and now to Inverness. But she wanted to go far away from the man and start fresh. "It's all I have to my identity. Miranda is everything to me and the passport is hers."

"But we made her up. You couldn't even remember your real name when I found you. The passport is fake, albeit a good one."

"I still want it." It didn't matter she had no clue about who she was or where she'd come from. Her memory was so shot with holes it made Swiss Cheese look solid. But Miranda Kendrick came to be an identity she liked. And she wasn't giving up the new her for anyone. Not even Jarle.

"When you bring me the sword, I'll no longer have use for your passport." With those words, the Viking witch left the room.

She prayed her master wouldn't renege. But just in case, she slid the small piece of obsidian discarded from the cursed heart, off the table, and squeezed it between the two components of the latch on the locket draped around her neck. She also retrieved Jarle's silver hair beads from the floor and slipped them into her jeans pocket. Having something of the Viking on her person might help her lessen his powers if need be. At least temporarily with the right spell. If, when she returned from Dundaire she had to fight Jarle for her freedom, she'd be able to repel a degree of his darkness. And that might just give her something to bargain with.

She prayed the job in Dundaire didn't cause her any problems.

# 2

_Wolfsden Keep, Dundaire, Scotland_

The plane ride home had vexed Callen's leg with a pain so wicked, he'd found it nearly unbearable to walk yesterday. At least this morning he'd made it downstairs. Another day in the States and he would have been bedridden for a week or more.

He lowered himself into the library's sole overstuffed chair and rested his walking stick against its arm. The cane's custom-made wolf head slid into a small tear, its open mouth biting down on a chunk of MacHendrie-blue tartan. If only his destiny was as easy to grab hold of.

His gaze traveled to the coffee table. A tattered, leather-bound French copy of Sun-Tzu's _The Art of War_ sat in the center, a stack of political thrillers piled to its left.

His brother Rhys knew him well. The man might insist on being butler at Wolfsden, a notion he couldn't wrap his head around since Rhys was never looked upon as anything other than blood, despite having been adopted into the pack by his father, but the wolf was damn good at keeping the castle ship shape and content. And considering Wolfsden was a living, breathing entity, that was no easy feat. He couldn't count how many days he'd woke to the castle shaking, throwing a temper tantrum over one dumb thing or another.

When the MacHendrie wolves were happy, Wolfsden keep was happy. And today, despite his throbbing thigh, was a good day.

He eyed the coffee table again.

If it weren't for books, he'd have no escape from the reality of being an alpha-in-waiting with no mate and no warriors. Even his blood brothers had gone on to new lives, setting up homes scattered across the estate. Not that he'd begrudged his siblings their freedom, for they each had enough pups to form their own packs, and he loved his devilish nephews to the point he'd give his life to save theirs. But family couldn't erase the loneliness that settled into his world thanks to Jarle's curse. And until he found a way to lift the damn hex without harming anyone else, he'd have no chance at fulfilling the role he was born to take.

The muscles in his thigh cramped.

Stretching his legs, he pushed the glass-topped coffee table out for more space, making a mess of Rhys's meticulously grouped furniture arrangement. Did the man really think a six-foot-four wolf could fit his legs into a one-foot gap? Even bent his limbs couldn't find comfort in that pigeonhole.

The room's double doors creaked open.

Rhys entered the library, his short brown hair combed back in its usual simplistic fashion. His clothes, however, were another story.

Callen eyed his brother's outfit and squinted. "What in heaven's name do you have on?" The combination of lemon yellow Bermuda shorts and lime green floral shirt, made his eyes ache.

Rhys glanced down at his clothes. "A gift from Mortimer and Katya. One of their vampiric fledglings flashed over this morning and dropped it off. Apparently, their honeymoon has afforded them excellent shopping opportunities."

Excellent was not the word Callen would have chosen to describe Rhys's outfit, but a happy butler made for a happy wolf. And this wolf was not in the mood to be put out today.

"Up for a dram?" Rhys asked as he clanked crystal against crystal while shuffling decanters around in the liquor cabinet across the room.

Their father insisted the bar be kept stocked with Wolfsden's signature Scotch at all times, and while Callen would kill for a shot this morning, the pain killers had him in a daze as it was. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass."

He rubbed his thigh, the friction from his kneading fingers seeping through his jeans. The massage offered little relief from the weeks-old pain hammering his leg, but at least it was something. "You really should have come to the wedding."

"Believe me," Rhys said, "I would have loved to, but someone had to babysit Wolfsden after that last fiasco."

"While I agree the castle cannot be left alone, I'm sure a suitable caretaker could have been found, maybe even one of the old hags from up on the mountain."

Rhys swung his head to the side, his right brow shooting up as he glared at Callen. "Do you really think a witch from Mount Dundaire would have made a good sitter? I mean, let's say one of those hags could have managed to keep the old coot in order, I'd doubt she'd survive the ordeal. And coming home to a dead hag would have caused world war three with those bickering spellcasters. Never mind the chunk it would have taken out of dad's pocket."

Rhys was right. Having a living, breathing castle as your home was more troublesome than having a pet. A cat or dog could always be sent to a kennel. But a grumpy old castle with an affliction for depleting the estate's whiskey supply, as well as having a knack for throwing tantrums with such brutality they usually left the plumbing racked with so many holes, most of it had to be replaced, could not be left empty. "Dad did nearly have a heart attack over that bill."

"He did indeed." Rhys went back to the liquor decanters.

"Still, it was a shame you couldn't have been there."

"Agreed. But I don't think Uncle Mortimer or Katya were too put out by my absence. They did send me this rockin' outfit." Rhys pulled at his shirt.

Those bright colors were more than rockin'. So much so, they were starting to make Callen's head ache. "Finbar isn't usually this late." He eyed the green and blue Rococo clock centered on the marble mantle. Marie Antoinette's gift to him was never off, not even by a second.

"I'm afraid Ms. Finbar won't be returning to Wolfsden."

That was definitely news to him. "Why not?"

"While you were in New Orleans, the woman came by to retrieve a hat she'd left behind on her last visit."

"And?"

Rhys hesitated. "I was roaming the grounds, au naturel."

_Damn_. He knew Rhys hadn't been wolf for long, but after a few centuries the man should have learned to guard his animal form. "How many times have I told you not to wander the estate, as wolf, in broad daylight? That's the third intern I've lost this year thanks to you scaring them off. Never mind that sweet little grad-student who came all the way up from Edinburgh."

"Do not fret, bro. I cleared up the mishap by explaining to the university how Wolfsden has a wildlife preserve and one of the wolves had escaped its pen, but that the incident will not repeat itself."

"And yet, Finbar will not be returning."

"I'm afraid not. Apparently, she doesn't favor wolves."

At the moment, he didn't favor a particular wolf either. "We'll need to find a replacement."

"Already taken care of. Your new intern will be here within the hour. She's coming up from Inverness."

"That's convenient. We haven't had a student from so close by in years." He paused. "Did you offer enough money to buy her silence?"

"Of course."

Paying a hefty sum afforded him some degree of no questions asked when it came to the artifacts he needed catalogued. For the right price, there was always someone willing to not only trek up to Dundaire, but to also keep quiet about the finds turned up at the dig site. And keeping his family's precious artifacts out of the news, was paramount to the pack's survival.

He let out a deep breath. "Maybe I will have that Scotch." _Drugs be damned_. At least as an immortal shifter, he didn't have to worry about killing himself by mixing alcohol and pills. He'd get a slight buzz, maybe a bit of a hazy brain, but he'd survive.

Rhys approached with the drink, dropped a coaster onto the table, and handed Cal the glass.

A prism of color glinted off the cut crystal.

Taking a swig of the caramel-colored malt, warmth coated his throat. Nothing relaxed him more than did a good gulp of his favorite liquor.

Callen's thoughts returned to the intern. Starting over with a new student meant facing a slew of the same old questions, as humans were excessively inquisitive. They always needed to know the castle's history, were beyond curious about the multitude of wolf motifs incorporated into the building's design and had a penchant for asking questions about his family's long history at the castle. Over the years, he had answered a crapload of questions and they never lessened, regardless of how many interns he'd gone through. And now he'd have to start anew.

He sighed.

"Have you given any more thought to hiring a preternatural physician?"

"I have. And like I told Uncle Mortimer, I'm still against it."

Rhys frowned. "They'd know how to treat your leg."

He scooted forward and placed his glass on the table, its thick edge teetering off the coaster with a clink. He sat back and rubbed his thigh again. "First, I will not put another soul in danger of absorbing the curse. And second, an immortal canna be trusted in this case. I dinna need someone who might have a connection to Jarle, poking around my leg. That bastard still lives, and he is not getting anywhere near Wolfsden unless it's on my terms. And for that, I need to find him before he finds me. I will not risk the family."

The doorbell rang, prompting Rhys to leave the library without commenting further.

_Thanks be to God_. His brother never failed to have an opinion and while he was thankful for the man's concern, Rhys didn't have the same responsibilities as he had as an alpha-in-waiting. And even though he knew he'd never fulfill his destiny, the responsibility of it remained.

He rose and grabbed his walking stick before limping into the main hallway. He glanced down once, checked his white shirt for signs of spilled Scotch since the painkillers had him in a bit of a daze, but no stains marred the garment. He was good to go.

A single step and his ears pricked.

The hairs at his nape stood on end.

Raising his gaze to the front door, his eyes met the back of Rhys's loud shirt. The man's broad body blocked all views of their new helper.

_This cudna be good_. Humans didn't usually put him on edge.

He continued to stare at Rhys's back.

What the hell was the man waiting for? Didn't he know not to waste time with niceties when it came to mortals who were not part of their inner circle? The student didn't need to feel welcome at Wolfsden. She just needed to be comfortable enough to do her job.

He limped toward the chatting butler, his wolf sense still uncertain about the woman at the door.

Rhys stepped aside.

Callen's breath caught. He'd never seen hair as vibrant, coppery red as on the woman who'd just entered his home. Nor had he seen eyes as brilliant blue as the ones staring back at him.

"Miss Miranda Kendrick," Rhys said, turning around.

Fine time for his brother to go all proper on him.

He gaped, of that he was certain for he hadn't felt his mouth close after it had dropped open.

"Excuse me," Rhys said to Miss Kendrick. He stepped away, approached Cal and leaned in. "'Tis just a woman. Humans do come in that sex."

He huffed. Sarcasm always brought him back to reality. "Forgive my lack of manners." He pushed the snarky Rhys out of the way. "The leg pain sometimes gets the best of me."

" _Liar_. _"_

" _Stay out of my head Rhys or you'll be sleeping with the dogs tonight rather than in your tricked-out wolf pad. And I do mean the real dogs_."

His brother nodded, then walked over to shut the door.

"Miranda," the woman said.

Cal offered Miss Kendrick his hand. "Callen MacHendrie. But please call me Cal. All my friends do."

" _I thought making friends was off limits._ "

" _I thought you didna like sleeping in the kennel._ "

Rhys snickered.

Cal smirked and then focused on Miranda. "Please," he said, shifting his lips into what he hoped was the most flattering smile ever. "The most recent crates of artifacts are across the hall, but if you need to do paperwork before hand or have questions, we can start in the library."

"Everything I need is right here." Miranda patted the black leather tote bag dangling from her left hand. She retrieved a blue folder from inside. "My professor filled me in on the details. He said the items from this batch that need cataloguing include swords and jewelry?"

"Correct. There are a few other things, but the bulk of this lot is made up of jewels and weapons." Miss Kendrick seemed to have a genuine interest in the job. He liked that. Maybe this one would stick around and help with next season's finds, too. "I guess we should get to work, then." He turned and headed toward the room at the far end of the hall. The large space with its climate control system and vaulted ceiling made for the perfect interim storage facility.

"I trust there is no issue with you staying here for the week? I didn't see a suitcase." He glanced over his shoulder, curious about Miranda's schedule as Rhys hadn't mentioned any details.

"A week is fine, though anything more and I'll have to check with my professor. My belongings are in my car, in the drive."

"I'll have Rhys get them and bring them to the guest room."

A beam of sunlight rained down from the stained-glass dome three stories above and glistened off Miranda's red hair as she walked across the hall.

Callen's heartbeat accelerated. The wolf in him shifted, rippled under his skin with the slightest of waves, though thankfully not enough to be detected by the human eye. _Down boy. Miss Kendrdick is not ours to keep._

His focus returned to Miranda who seemed to be in awe of the castle as she stared up at the intricate glass ceiling. "The detail in that dome is amazing." She pursed her lips. "Is that a pack of wolves in the design?"

"It is," he answered.

"The craftsmanship is remarkable."

"It's been repaired a few times as my family considers the preservation of Wolfsden a duty. The castle is part of our history." A low rumble quaked under his feet. He prayed to God, Miranda didn't sense it.

"I can't imagine living in a home that belonged to my family for generations."

Miss Kendrick was definitely not a Scot. "Where are you from, originally?"

"New York," she said. "But I've been traveling the world these last two years and am currently based in Inverness."

A second rumble vibrated. "And are you enjoying Scotland?" Anything to distract from the fact his castle was a living entity.

She hesitated. A worried look crossed her brow.

_Crap_. Maybe she _had_ felt the ground shake. _Don't interfere, Wolfsden. She's human, she won't understand you being a living, breathing building_.

The castle went calm.

"Miss Kendrick?"

"Sorry. I don't get outside the city much. My studies keep me busy, cooped up in the lab and all."

"I see." Alarm raced through his soul. Archeology students spent just as much time out in the pits as they did in the classroom. It was simply the nature of the subject. And he knew this for fact since he hosted a dig opened to all of Scotland's universities teaching the curriculum. Miranda's statement didn't make sense.

He eyed her face, searched for one of those little telltale hints that would give him a clue to what she was hiding. None came. But dismissing the troublesome notion irking his soul wasn't an option. Something was keeping Miranda in Inverness and he doubted it had anything to do with her education. "Then it's good that you've been able to join us up here in Dundaire."

"It is. Though I must admit the area is not what I expected."

"How so?"

"This is going to sound strange, but the air seems more alive here, even smells different, almost as if it carries a faint trace of sage."

His gut twisted. He didn't know if he liked Miss Kendrick sensing Dundaire's powerful magick. While most humans did find the village to be a bit off from other towns, only fellow shifters or animals detected the scent of sage. "The higher elevation of Dundaire often causes people to feel different, to think this a magickal place."

"And what do _you_ make of Dundaire, Callen?"

He'd never been asked the question before. This Miranda was beyond bold. "It's just home." He prayed the answer would suffice, then turned about and started for the storage room.

Two steps forward and his walking stick skidded against the marble-tiled floor. He huffed. Turning the wolf-headed cane upside down revealed the culprit—a model car tire jammed into the stick's skid resistant base. _Blasted toys_. When would he learn to stop buying his nephews playthings with small parts? Jiggling the tire free, he also loosened the cane's rubber-tipped foot. A good slam against the hall's floor pushed it back.

A thud sounded behind him.

Spinning around, he found Miranda flat on her face, the files from her folder scattered about her splayed body.

He limped to her aid and crouched. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Thank you."

He offered her his hand.

A zing of electricity shot up his arm as her fingers touched his.

Miranda appeared unaffected. She stood and straightened her green shirt and then brushed off her jeans. "I feel so stupid. I must have tripped over my own foot."

He glanced around to check for additional toy parts but found none. "Please, no need to feel embarrassed. You're talking to the 'King of Tripping for no Reason'. I've landed on my ass more times than I can count and some days I canna even stand straight." He gathered the documents and handed them, along with the blue folder, back to Miranda.

She grabbed the papers and shoved the pile into her bag.

Her eyes flashed neon blue.

Cal blinked.

Miranda stared at him, a puzzled look on her face. Her eyes were back to their previous brilliant blue coloring. "Is something wrong?"

He hesitated. "Um...no. Just another twinge of pain in my leg, that's all. The artifacts are this way." He headed once again toward the storage room.

What the hell was happening to him? He hadn't hallucinated in centuries. Maybe mixing drugs and alcohol was not as harmless to his wolf as he'd thought.

Or...

Maybe Miss Kendrick was not the innocent human he had believed her to be.

This one needed watching.

She was so screwed.

Her eyes hadn't changed color since she'd made that disastrous mistake of thinking one of Jarle's warriors was cute. Turned out the guy was a total jerk, but that was beside the point. The experience had taught her something new about the magickal side of her soul, revealed one more clue about who she really was that she hadn't known before.

She prayed to God Callen hadn't noticed the eye thing. If he had, she was going to have to explain herself and that wouldn't be easy. Especially when she really didn't have a full explanation herself. How did she tell a man she'd just met, that her eyes changed color when she got the hots for a guy? Callen would think her a nut. Love at first sight was a myth.

Walking forward, she blew a stray strand of hair away from her forehead.

It would be a miracle if she made it out of Wolfsden Keep alive. This MacHendrie dude was not the typical badass like the usual deviants Jarle counted among his associates. The slam of his cane against the floor actually made the marble tiles give out under her feet. And from what little she knew about magick, only the most powerful of souls could make the ground move.

And talk about being hot. From his jet-black hair to his well-muscled physique, Callen MacHendrie was the sexiest man she'd ever met. Never mind the heat radiating from his touch—that was beyond swoon worthy. Its supernatural warmth worked itself from the top of her body all the way down to that sweet, vulnerable spot between her legs. And judging by its lingering heat, she'd swear its sole intent was to caress her clit.

She gently pressed her thighs together.

Oh yeah, this MacHendrie dude was definitely not Jarle's average enemy.

The sudden urge to howl overwhelmed her.

_What the fuck?_

She swallowed and forced down the desire.

Usually she wanted to run from her targets, get as far away from them as was possible, and not just because she didn't want to get caught holding stolen goods, but the creeps Jarle sought revenge on were usually lower than low. Callen MacHendrie didn't fit that trash. He also had the slightest, yet sexiest of brogues, and smelled delicious, the scent of bergamot tinged with a drop of sage exuded from his personal space.

This was a man she wanted to run _to,_ not from. Staying in his embrace and enjoying the tingling warmth of his touch was a definite possibility.

She fanned her face. Jarle was so going to have her ass for this.

A zap licked the small of her back.

She froze.

Cal's hand pushed gently against her spine as he waited for her to cross the threshold at that storage room door. "After you."

She hadn't even noticed he'd reached out to her, but God, the feel of his palm against her back felt amazingly awesome. Like a thousand little pulses of heat caressing her muscles into the deepest state of relaxation. If the man was this good with just one touch, a full body massage from him probably amounted to heaven.

She stepped forward and entered the room. One glance around the place and her heart started doing a happy dance. She'd never seen so many swords and daggers. The weapons were piled everywhere—on the table, on the counters, stacked two rows deep against the far wall. And the pearls and rubies were just as plentiful, the abundance of jewels enough to fill the largest of pirates' chests. Talk about an endless horde. A collection this magnificent didn't come from some run of the mill dig. It was magickal. The glow emanating from each of its items—an aura that screamed each one had been touched by magick somewhere along its history—was quite evident to the supernatural eye. No wonder Jarle wanted her up here.

"We'll start with the jewelry," Callen said. "Rhys and I filed everything according to stone and metal type, but we didn't go through it all with a fine-tooth comb. Some items might need to be better inspected. I've also found a few pieces stuck together that needed separating." He pulled out a red padded chair and motioned for her to sit.

The guy was a modern-day version of a chivalrous medieval knight. But the supernaturally charged gold flecks in his deep brown eyes, told her this MacHendrie dude was the real thing. Like in immortal. Supernatural.

Goosebumps dotted her skin. She could only imagine what he must have lived through. If she could conjure up a perfect mate, it would be this Scot. Unfortunately, just in case she was wrong about her assessment of the man, she was keeping all thoughts of him to herself.

Taking her seat, she dropped her tote to the floor.

Callen placed a notebook and mechanical pencil in front of her on the table. "I like to do things old school first time around, with entries getting logged into the computer later."

_Old school_. Oh, yeah, he was definitely supernatural. But not in the vile, evil way like Jarle. And not in any witchy way either. Callen MacHendrie was another species all together. One she hadn't come across before.

She wondered what else he did differently than today's average guy. He didn't wear an earpiece, or even have a cell phone glued to his palm. In fact, she didn't notice any bulges in his jeans save for the one in front and that had nothing to do with a damn phone. Living in an ancient castle must have given him a different perspective on things. Made him take things a bit slower than most people did today. Maybe he took his time with everything he did and not just with his work concerning ancient artifacts.

Spending a night with a man who wasn't texting, checking the scoreboard, or engaging in one of those dumb multi-player games on his phone every five seconds, would be pure bliss.

Visions of a four-poster draped in velvet curtains clouded her thoughts. And of course it wasn't the image of an empty bed that had to fill her mind, but rather one that boasted a sprawled Callen MacHendrie, his well-muscled chest fully exposed, his lower body barely covered by a strategically placed silk sheet. A sheet she would have no problem getting under and....

She moaned.

"Miss Kendrick?"

She was beyond humiliated. "Sorry. Something was stuck in my throat." Did she really just say that? Oh. My. God. _You are such a little ho, Miranda_.

A smirk crossed Callen's lips.

Lips that were made for kissing. Not too thin, not too plump. Manly lips that she had no doubt knew how to explore a woman's body.

The urge to howl returned.

She pushed it back again. Maybe it had to do with all the wolf motifs at Wolfsden Keep, because she never craved doing such an animalistic thing in her life. Well...in the life that she could remember that is. And howling was definitely animalistic. So was dreaming of being in Cal MacHendrie's bed.

The smirk remained on his face. On odd feeling settled in her bones. Was it possible Callen knew what she was thinking? "Is something wrong, Mr. MacHendrie?"

He lowered his gaze to the table. A curl of black hair fell across his brow. "I think we should concentrate on our work. Don't you agree?"

She _was_ concentrating on her work. Callen MacHendrie was her assignment. Well, stealing from him was her exact job, but she couldn't take something she hadn't yet found. In the meantime, she needed to feel him out. "I'll get started with the silver pieces."

"Good decision."

Callen pulled a plastic shoebox crammed with sealed plastic sandwich bags containing individual pieces of jewelry. He slid the container her way. "Aside from item name and number that's on the bag, I'd like as detailed a description as possible recorded in the notebook. It will make it easier to retrieve things later."

"Got it." She reached for the first bag, snatching it from the box. A silver ring in the shape of a wolf's head rested inside. "Are wolves significant to your family?"

Callen looked up. "They're part of the MacHendrie coat of arms."

"So that's why they're all over the place."

"Yes. The family has a long history of using the animal as their emblem." He balanced the handle of his cane on the table and then turned around to grab a nearby chair. "Have you worked on other medieval collections?"

"A few," Miranda said. "But none this large. I've also never worked at an actual dig site. Everything I've done to date has been within the confines of museums or private collections." She omitted the detail about her stealing said items.

"Do you enjoy your work?"

She couldn't answer truthfully. She hated stealing from people, but Jarle would kill her if she didn't do what he asked of her. "I do like Celtic artifacts. I find their designs beautiful." At least that much was not a lie.

"As do I," Callen said. "In fact, I love everything about Wolfsden Keep and about my heritage. It is who I am."

If only she knew who she really was, maybe she could have a place to love, too.

Rhys entered the room and brought tall glasses of iced tea garnished with fresh slices of lime, perched on a silver tray. "I thought refreshments might be needed." As he set one drink in front of Miranda, he bumped Callen's cane. The stick inched in her direction, came to a stop after it collided with the side of her pinky.

"Would you care for a sandwich, Miss Kendrick?"

"No thank you, Rhys. I ate before coming here."

The butler's gaze shifted to Callen. "And for you, sir?"

"I'm good for now."

"If either of you change your mind, don't hesitate to ring." Rhys retrieved a cream-colored envelope from the side of the tray and handed it to Cal. "This arrived in the post."

"Aw...fuck."

Miranda shot her right eyebrow up.

Callen blushed. "Sorry."

"It's fine. But I take it the letter isn't?"

Cal tossed the unopened envelope onto the countertop behind him. "It's an invite to a cousin's wedding."

"Weddings are a lot of fun."

"Not for me and I have a huge family, so the blasted occasions come up often. I hate them. Never want to go to another one in my life. In fact, when I marry I'm going to insist we elope."

Miranda frowned. "That's not very romantic."

"I don't need romance."

Rhys coughed, diverted Callen's attention. "Would you like me to handle the reply, sir?"

"No, I'll write a note tonight and send it back in the morning." He glared at the butler.

Rhys gave a slight bow, then sauntered from the room.

"Has Rhys been with you long?"

"A few years. Why?"

"He seems young for a butler. I'm guessing he's about twenty-eight or so, like you."

Callen rubbed his chin, appeared to be pondering her comment. "You think I look twenty-eight?"

"Aren't you?"

He didn't answer. "Rhys is more than a butler. He's a dear friend. My father adopted him years ago. He's also a bit...younger than me."

"Huh...I wouldn't have guessed."

"Looks can be deceiving, Miss Kendrick. But regardless, Rhys is a good man, and I'm glad to have him at Wolfsden." Callen plucked the thin slice of lime off the glass of tea, removed its rind, and popped the rest into his mouth. He lowered his head and went back to sorting through the bags of artifacts.

A low buzz echoed at Miranda's ears. She scanned the area but noticed nothing out of the ordinary coming from the bagged jewelry.

Something nipped her finger.

Her gaze flew to her hand, to the wolf-head topping Cal's cane. The animal's snarling mouth had bitten down on her pinky.

The image of an inscribed blade popped into her head.

_Jarle's sword_. The weapon must be encased inside the walking stick.

She eyed Callen to make sure he wasn't watching her, and much to her relief, he appeared quite focused on an emerald pendant hanging from a strand of pearls.

She carefully nudged her foot toward the cane and dislodged the walking stick from her finger, and from resting against the table.

Callen glanced up, a confused look crossing his face.

"Sorry." _Liar_. She hoped he believed her feign of innocence. Reaching out, she grabbed the cane before it fell to the floor.

A bolt of energy hammered her arm. Its bright white pulse entered her fingers and proceeded to shoot up to her shoulder.

She gasped.

Callen was on her in a flash. "Let go of the cane."

"Never."

"It will kill you."

"It'll save me."

He grabbed for her hand.

A second dose of electricity zapped her.

She slid off the chair and landed on the tile floor, her blouse pulled to one side. Its top buttons popped open, exposed her green lace bra to the world.

Callen ended up on top of her, his stare level with her breasts.

She wasn't going to let go of his damn cane.

# 3

No one was going to steal his sword. Least of all a human who hadn't a clue as to what powers the blade possessed. It was as cursed as was his leg. "I said, let it go."

Miranda shook her head. Her wavy, copper-colored hair shimmied around her face, framed her features with varying glints of red that lit up like sparks with each move.

Between the fiery hair and the trace of fear veiling her eyes, Callen's sexy thief reminded him of a spitfire. A bit too hot to handle on the outside, yet overly tame on the inside. Just the type of woman he'd want in his bed. A mate who was willing to embrace the wolf in his soul while surrendering to the man in his heart. Too bad she was gunning for his hexed blade.

A low buzz emitted from the floor.

"What is it with this place? Is Wolfsden on a fault line or something?"

So she _was_ aware of the castle being able to move at will. This could not be good. He didna need a nosy mortal asking questions that were too personal to his pack's survival. "Not that I am aware."

Miranda's eyes went neon again.

Now it was his turn to ask the question. "What are you?"

"A woman. But I thought that was obvious with these." She arched her breasts closer to his face.

_A verra bad move_. He swallowed. His frantic heartbeat pulsed at his ears. He knew he should look away but couldn't as Miranda was too damn tempting for her own good. "I was referring to your animal side."

"Are you for real? Do I look like an animal?" She squirmed under him. The third button on her blouse popped, revealed more of her ample breasts as they pushed through her shirt, her creamy flesh spilling out from under the bands of a lime green lace bra. He couldn't help but stare. And his eyes weren't the only part of him that wanted a piece of her, his hands were itching to cop a feel, and his cock...well...he wasn't even going to think about what that part of him craved. But letting go of Miranda's wrists—for any reason—was not a risk he was willing to take. Yet. "Humans canna change eye color at will."

"You think I'm doing that by choice?"

She _was_ aware of her abilities. The revelation piqued his interest in her even more. "You're not human. At least not fully human."

Sheer terror filled her eyes. "You're a frickin' nut. You know that?"

"I didna say it to frighten you."

"I'm not scared."

He doubted that. The scent of her panic enveloped their space like the stench of road tar on a hot summer day. In the wild, she'd have been tracked by even the least capable of shifters. "Relinquish my cane."

"I can't."

"You must."

"Not going to happen."

He wondered what would have made her interested in a simple walking stick. To the average human, it had no value. "Why not?"

"I'm being paid to steal it."

Miranda didn't strike him as the sort of woman who resorted to thievery just for the fun of it. She probably needed the money and if so, that pained him. He didn't like thinking she had to steal to make ends meet. "I'll give you double the amount to let go."

"It's more complicated than that. And I can't discuss it. So, don't even ask."

Miranda could steal from him but couldn't tell him why. "That's a bit unfair, don't you think?"

"You have a room full of swords. Why not just let me have this one?"

Her disclosure shocked him. Miss Kendrick knew the truth about his wolf-headed walking stick and that was not a good thing. "Who told you it's a sword?"

She swallowed. Then squirmed.

He tightened his grip on her wrists.

She released a deep breath.

An intoxicating perfume filled the air. It smelled of orange, honeysuckle, a trace of clove...his mate's scent.

Well damn him to hell. Of all the females on the planet, his mate had to be a thief.

The revelation sacked him in the gut.

He had to have been very sinful in another life to deserve this.

His thoughts propelled back a thousand years.

" _Smell the air, Callen,_ " _his grandmother said._ " _The scent of your mate is unique. No other soul will give off the same smell and no other wolf will be able to detect it in the same way. The scent is specific between you and her. Even if she is not wolf._ "

_He closed his eyes. The aroma of a fresh cut orange teased his nose. So did the scent of honeysuckle and a pinch of clove._

Miranda wriggled beneath him, the movements of her body sending his wolf's desire for her, skyrocketing.

His thoughts came hurling back to the present.

_Crap_. He did not need this now. The Wolfsden pack would never accept a thief as their future alpha's mate. As his mate.

"Get off me," Miranda said.

He stared her in the eyes.

She stilled. A soft moan escaped her luscious lips.

He leaned forward, sniffed her neck, brought his tongue to her flesh and licked her skin.

Miranda sighed.

Callen leaned closer. He trailed his lips up to her ear, nibbled on her lobe.

"Oh..."

He went in for the kill. An all-out kiss that filled his mouth with the unique taste of a sugary sweet nectar that was exclusive to Miss Miranda Kendrick. He sucked hard on her skin.

Her body eased beneath him.

The crotch of his jeans grew tighter. He shifted. He should not be doing this, playing into Miranda's naïve state. She hadn't a clue as to what she was and neither did he. But he intended to find out. And fast.

Callen lifted his head.

Miranda frowned.

"Disappointed?"

She didn't answer.

Against his better judgement, he lowered his head once more and brushed his lips against hers.

She parted for him, welcomed his tongue without protest.

The flavor of honey filled Callen's mouth. He released his hand from Miranda's right wrist and glided his fingers under her shirt, over her waist and then up to her right breast.

His palm collided with her plump nipple, the protruding bud straining against the lace of her bra.

He groaned. The feel of her aroused nipple under his hand made his cock strain against his jeans.

A slight moan escaped Miranda's throat. Arching her hips, she bumped against his crotch.

Callen pulled away. "Don't do that."

"What? This?" She shifted against him a second time.

"Yes. That. Now stop it." A flash of silver caught his eye. Forcing Miranda's arms above her head, he clasped both her wrists with one hand. "You don't listen verra well, do you?"

"I don't take orders from beasts."

He grinned. "This is nothing, lass. The animal in me hasn't even begun to surface." He brought his free hand to Miranda's neck and pulled on the decorative silver locket that graced the space just above the cleft between her breasts.

"Let it go," she said.

The object was cursed; of that he was certain. "You shouldn't be wearing this." A drumming vibration pulsed against his palm. _The aura of a living heart_. The locket reminded him of the one found in his mother's jewelry box at Mortimer's castle before Vikings sacked the fortress. He wrapped his fingers around the piece and held tight.

Miranda managed to pull one hand free and slammed his chest with a fist.

"Don't fight me, Miss Kendrick." He tried to keep her left hand braced against the floor while fending off the punches. It didn't work.

Miranda squirmed, broke free just enough to send her knee into his wounded thigh.

Stars clouded his vision. He rolled off his sexy little thief and stifled a howl. He couldn't let her see him as wolf. Not yet.

Miranda was out of the room in seconds.

Rhys appeared in the doorway and ran to Callen's aid. "What the hell happened in here?"

"I'll explain later."

"We should be going after Miss Kendrick." Rhys offered Callen his hand. "She's taken your sword."

"She'll be back. I have her heart."

"Perhaps you're being a bit too presumptive?"

Callen rose. "No. I mean literally." He lifted his hand and revealed the swinging locket. "I have her heart. Well, I have the aura of it, which magickally is the same. Miranda won't make it two feet past the front door without this." He steadied himself by leaning on the edge of the work table.

"I'll go get her," Rhys said.

"No. I think it best be me. My sticky-fingered intern and I need to have a chat."

The pain from being kneed in the leg started to ease. Callen headed out of the storage room and straight for the front door.

Miranda couldn't live without her cursed locket.

Miranda grabbed her chest, placed her hand over her frantically beating heart and gasped. She needed a place to hide.

Scanning the area, she cursed.

Wolfsden Keep afforded no refuge, its grounds being made up of open, rolling hills that seemed to go on forever, their vibrant green color appearing almost surreal. But beautiful countryside wasn't going to save her from Callen MacHendrie and for some odd reason, she was suddenly too tired to move. Running away was not going to be possible.

A row of privy hedges lining the front of the castle caught her attention. She rounded the green bushes and slumped to the ground. As she leaned back, the castle's stone façade cooled her rising temperature, took the burn from her skin. A trickle of sweat dripped down her cheek. She had the world's worst timing. According to the weather report she'd watched last week, Scotland hadn't had a summer this warm in years.

Maybe Jarle had brought her here on purpose. He knew damn well the heat reminded her of that horrid night he'd found her on the street.

The memory sent a cold chill down her spine.

She shook her head and ignored the painful thoughts. All that mattered right now was the damn walking stick clutched at her side.

She wiped her face with the back of her free hand. Callen's cane remained gripped in her fingers, the silver wolf at its head watching her, its mouth twisted in a snarl.

Jarle had a penchant for guarding her every move. A second hawk wasn't what she needed. With a gentle roll, she turned the wolf away.

A warm wind blew across the lawns.

Her shoulders ached.

The stones at her upper back, the ones along the castle's façade, started moving. If she hadn't known better, she'd swear the castle was attempting to massage away her pains. But how could a building know what she was feeling?

A low rumble reached her ears.

She caught her breath, drew in a deep dose of air. The scent of roses danced under her nose. On the drive over, she hadn't taken in the beauty of the castle's immense grounds, but sitting here now, with the hills fanning out for as far as the eye could see, the landscape at Wolfsden was breathtaking.

A sigh sounded at her back.

Wolfsden was a strange castle. Maybe it did have a mind of its own, could sense emotions from those living within its walls. Jarle had exposed her to some seriously weird stuff since he'd rescued her, so a living, breathing castle wasn't totally shocking to her sensible mind. Maybe that's why Callen seemed so fond of the place. Living here certainly appeared to suit him.

All she remembered of her past, with the exception of a few distinct memories of her childhood, was that dark, dank street where Jarle had found her living no better than a rabid dog. Dundaire offered so much more than any crowded city could ever give. No wonder Callen MacHendrie was in love with his castle and the magnificent finds it kept revealing from its archeological dig. She'd become engrossed with Wolfsden Keep, too, if it were her home.

Plucking the top of her shirt to peel it off her sweaty chest, Miranda detected the spicy scent of bergamot mixed with clove. The perfume clung to her clothes, teased her nose.

_Callen_.

The man smelled so damn good. And while she'd thought him a hot Scot right from the get go—she would have had to been blind not to—until he was on top of her, she hadn't realized just how muscled his chest and arms were. The man was blatant perfection. Never mind his off the charts kissing abilities. Her lips and neck still stung from the sear of his touch.

Visions of that velvet-draped bed returned to her head.

_Don't even go there, girl_. Cal MacHendrie was not part of her future. He couldn't be. She came to steal from him and that little blemish did not make for good girlfriend material.

Her eyelids grew heavy. She hadn't felt this tired in ages and all she did was run a few feet. What the heck was happening? A physically fit twenty-seven-year-old who ran six ten-minute miles on a daily basis should be able to run marathons around this place and not lose steam.

Miranda lowered her head. She inched forward and ran her free hand over the cool grass.

A pair of brown, tasseled loafers appeared in front of her.

_Cal_.

Her gaze raked up his legs, over his shins and thighs, settled for a brief second at his crotch.

He cleared his throat. "Up here."

She knew damn well she was blushing, her cheeks warmed. Raising her stare, she met Callen in the eye. He towered over her, standing like a mythic god ready to pounce. Her sliver locket dangled from his hand.

She gasped and relinquished the cane, brought her hands to her neck. "My heart."

# 4

The moment Miranda's fingers slipped off the cane, Callen extended his hand, palm side up, and commanded the object to come to him.

It flew from the ground, its wolf-head topper hitting his open palm with a loud sounding slap. "Never let your guard down, Miss Kendrick."

She didn't appear to be overly concerned about losing the item she'd just pinched from him. Her gaze remained fixed on the locket. "My heart's aura is in there. Give it back."

"In time."

"It's not yours."

"And I don't want it. But I think it's in your best interest not to wear it right now."

She didn't look pleased. "I need it."

He crouched and eyed his sexy thief head on. The scent of honeysuckle filled his nose. "Who are you?"

"Miranda Kendrick."

She was a very good liar. "I mean your real name."

"I don't know."

That could be the truth, or it could be another lie. He wasn't sure. "Why did you come to Wolfsden? And don't tell me you're here as a student working to steal artifacts for a private collector or for your professor. The student gig died when you went after my sword. No intern would have known what was hidden in the cane."

Miranda let out a deep breath and lowered her gaze. "I work for a sleazy two-bit gangster who steals things. Priceless things. From people he claims are his enemies."

"Why do you do it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because it pleases me." Her tone was beyond snarky. "Why the hell do you think I do it? I do it because I owe the bastard. Besides, he's a witch. Has powers that can change a person."

So his beautiful mate believed in magick. He wondered if she'd believe in him being a shifter. "Are _you_ a witch?"

"I'm not sure as I don't remember my past. But I do believe people have abilities to do things, like how you just commanded your sword. Yet not everyone can move inanimate objects. That level of magick can only come naturally and most of us lose those abilities as we age because we get too caught up in the material world. But some of us do retain a portion of those powers. At least I know I do, though I don't have proper command of them."

"How did you know about the sword?"

"The witch told me. Though he didn't know it was hiding in a walking stick. That I sensed on my own and with a little help from its biting wolf-head." She checked her pinky as if looking for a mark. "I hope I don't get rabies, that thing is nasty."

"My cane is not nasty." He extended his hand. "And for the record, it is not rabid. Now let me see your finger."

She gave him her hand.

A spark of energy licked his skin as he touched Miranda's flesh. He prayed to God the hex infused in his cursed blade hadn't spread to his mate, if so, he had no idea what would happen to her.

Turning her hand for a better view, Callen inspected the pad of Miranda's pinky and noted the impression of tiny wolf teeth marring the otherwise flawless flesh. A red tinge surrounded the bite. "I'm verra sorry the cane did not behave. But in all fairness, you shouldna have touched it."

"You should train your pets."

"It's a magickal beast, not a dog."

"And here I thought it was like its feral master."

"You think me a dog?"

"I don't _think_ you anything."

He ran his thumb over her pinky, sent his healing energy into her body.

"Oh..." A pink blush crept into Miranda's cheeks. She closed her eyes, licked her lips. "That feels so..."

"Hush." Callen smiled to himself. He might not have been with a woman in years, but he certainly hadn't lost his touch. He leaned toward Miranda's right ear. "A dog couldna do this."

Her breath hitched.

Cal backed away, watched Miranda's beautiful face as he massaged her finger, absorbed its pain into his own hand.

A slight pant escaped his thief's luscious mouth.

Miranda's eyes opened. "Your touch...it seeps right through me like some form of sensual magick. How did you do that?"

He released her hand. "I'm no fool, Miss Kendrick. If you wish to learn my secrets, you'll have to earn them first."

"Can you teach me to control my powers?"

He couldn't believe she was actually willing to learn from him. "I can teach you...a lot of things." Reaching out, he ran his forefinger over her cheek and down to her chin. "You're verra beautiful."

Miranda huffed. "You are such a typical guy and here I thought maybe you were different." She pushed him away.

Miss Kendrick was indeed a little spitfire. And he liked the notion. "You'll master your powers in time."

"I doubt it. My magick is not as good as yours. It's just average."

"Don't convince yourself of that, Miranda. Your abilities are verra strong." Sensing his sword inside the cane was a damn powerful talent. Miranda Kendrick was no typical witch. "So, you accept magick?"

"To a degree, yes. I believe in prophetic dreams, spells, mind over matter. That sort of stuff. My boss has taught me a lot, exposed me to all sorts of unimaginable things. But not enough for me to master my own abilities. I don't think he wants me to."

"I see. And does this miscreant have a name?"

"Who he is doesn't matter. Besides, you have your damn sword...cane...whatever the heck it is...back. Give me my locket and I'll be out of your hair."

He smirked. She was not going to get off that easy. "You aren't leaving Wolfsden until I say so."

"Great. Another wicked witch. Tell me, do you make a habit out of belittling women? Ordering them to do what you want or else?"

"First, I'm no witch. Second, I'm doing this for your own good."

She shook her head as if she didn't believe him.

"Now, back to this miscreant. Does he have a name?"

Miranda nodded, brought her stare level to his. "Jarle."

His stomach dropped. His mate was working for the man who had been his bane for a thousand years. It couldn't be possible.

Callen rose and stepped away. He paced. Miranda was obviously one of Jarle's slaves, the bound heart proof of the witch's claim over her. But her not knowing the reason behind her changing eye color or even not knowing her real name, if that statement was true, nagged at him. She also didn't seem to realize just how powerful a witch she was. Which meant her raw magickal talent could easily be manipulated. And that could prove disastrous.

Leaning on his cane, he scanned the area. Jarle's minions could have been lurking about from the moment Miranda arrived at Wolfsden. He chided himself. He should have been more aware. "Did anyone follow you here?"

"I don't think so. Jarle doesn't usually send more than one person on an assignment."

"We're going inside."

"No, we're not," Miranda said. "My ass is staying right here until you return my locket."

He spun around, bent forward and grabbed her arm. "If you think I'll have my mate be put in danger, you're sorely mistaken. Now get."

She was on her feet in a heartbeat. "Listen dude, I can accept the whole loving the castle lifestyle, I can even dismiss the wolf-at-every-turn design thing, but I am so not your mate."

He walked her to the front door.

"I'd be insane to shack up with a guy like you."

He froze. "Why? What's wrong with a guy like me?"

"For starters, ordering a woman to do your bidding does not make a dude date material."

She might have a point there. "Go on."

"Second, you don't bring up marriage...being your mate...on the first date."

"I wasn't aware we were on a date."

"Even worse. We haven't gotten that far and already you're telling me I'm yours."

She did make the whole thing sound a bit desperate. But he was wolf. And MacHendrie wolves knew their mates the moment they smelled their scent. They also protected them from that point forward. He didn't see the point of all that sissy courting stuff. He was a man who believed time was precious and playing the dating game was only a waste. Mates were meant to be together whether they courted or not. But he had to admit, taking time to get to know Miranda did appeal to the human side of his soul. He especially liked the way those soft little moans escaped her mouth. Hearing them in his bed would be very pleasing. Plus, he was certain he could comfort a hell of a lot more of her than merely her little finger, if he had the chance.

A low growl rose in his throat.

Damn his wolf. He did not want the animal in him coming out now. It would really turn Miranda away.

He took a deep breath. _Down boy_.

A second growl, a bit testier than the first, stirred his soul, but subsided.

_Good wolf_.

He glanced at Miranda and thanked his lucky stars she appeared to not have noticed the beast inside him. Keeping the animal tame while in the presence of his pretty little sword pincher was not going to be easy.

A click echoed from inside the front hall.

Miranda swung her head toward the open door. "Whoa. Now that's what I call serious ammunition."

If he could have died that very moment, he would have. "What in God's name are you doing, Rhys?"

"Protecting you."

"With a machine gun and enough silver bullets to fend off an entire pack of wolves?"

"She stole your sword and we both know only one witch would be interested in that cursed blade."

"Is he talking about Jarle?"

"Aye," Callen said.

Miranda turned and glared at him. "You know Jarle?"

"It is a verra long story."

"Then you better find a way to shorten the tale because I want to know exactly what kind of shit I've landed in. Jarle's enemies don't usually have the means to defend themselves like the two of you have."

Callen eyed Rhys. "You can put the gun down. Miss Kendrick poses no threat."

Miranda agreed. "Yeah, Rambo. What he said."

It took a moment, but Rhys eventually relented. The firearm, along with the excessive cache of bullets, vanished.

"Miss Kendrick and I will be in the library." He entered the castle and headed across the hall, his grip still strong on Miranda's arm. The woman needed protecting from that bastard Jarle and he was going to find a way to free her from the witch, even if it killed him to do so. His mate was not going to be bound to another soul. But first he had to make Miranda realize they were meant for each other.

Rhys followed him a close step behind. "I notified Mortimer."

Callen stopped midstride. "Now why would you do that?"

"I feared for your life."

"Call him back and tell him there's no need to worry."

"Are you sure?"

"Verra."

His brother turned away, but not before snarling at Miranda.

"I think I've made him mad," she said.

"He'll get over it." The scent of honeysuckle and orange filled his space again, stirred his senses like no fragrance ever had in the past. If he didn't find a way to convince Miss Kendrick they were eternal mates, he'd go mad. Of that he was certain.

In the library, Callen let go of Miranda's arm.

"I feel like I've just run a marathon," she said. "And I have no frickin' clue why."

He was going to have to explain about the whole bound heart thing. "Sit and I'll get you some water." The scent of her perfume wafted away as he left her side and headed for the bar.

"I've never seen so many books in one room. Have you read them all?"

"No," he answered. "But some I've read multiple times. The bulk of the collection belongs to my father." From the bar he watched Miranda maneuver about the room. As she inspected the bookshelves, she glided her fingers along the spines of the leather-bound volumes, ran her hands over the gold lettering, going from one book to the next as if she was genuinely enthralled with them. "This is a magnificent collection. If I had books like these I'd never leave home."

If he had a mate like her, he'd never leave his bed. Her moves made him crave her touch, crave the feel of her fingers against his skin, the kiss of her lips against his mouth. God, but he was hopeless. And to think just a few days ago he thought he'd never mind a mate. Of course, convincing her of the fact was a different matter. No woman deserved an alpha-in-waiting who would probably never be top wolf. But even if she never accepted him, he was still going to free her from Jarle.

She strolled over to his chair and dropped down. "Could this chair be any bigger? I think I can get lost in here."

He laughed. "All MacHendrie men are tall. You should see our beds."

Miranda's cheeks went red.

_Damn_. "That probably was not first date material, was it?"

She shook her head. "You are so screwed, dude."

Rhys returned. Eyeing Miranda in the MacHendrie tartan chair, his mouth gaped.

"What?" she asked.

"You're in the alpha's seat. And no one sits in the alpha's seat except for Bane of Wolfsden or his eldest son."

"Wow. Talk about taking the wolf thing to extremes. Next you'll be telling me you all run around the grounds and howl at the full moon."

Callen didn't comment.

Neither did Rhys.

"Okay. I was only joking." Miranda started to get up.

"Stay," Cal said. "You're fine right where you are." He turned his focus on Rhys. "Is there a purpose to your presence right now?"

"Mortimer wasn't exactly sure you should be left alone up here."

He did not like the sound of that. "And?"

Rhys fidgeted with the hem of his brightly colored shirt. "Vidar is on his way."

_For the love of heaven_. He did not need his uncle's brother-in-law staying at Wolfsden Keep. The Viking was the most brooding wolf he'd ever come across, never mind the fact he and Vidar were barely on speaking terms. "When he gets here, take him to a guest room. I don't want him disturbing my discussion with Miss Kendrick."

"Will do." Rhys glared at Miranda but didn't linger.

Grabbing a bottle of cold water, Callen walked over to the chair and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, so he could face his mate. He handed her the drink and then set his cane on the sofa.

"I take it your father is Bane of Wolfsden?" Miranda asked.

"He is. And yes, I am the oldest son, heir to my father's...legacy." Explaining about the wolf pack just yet didn't seem right.

Miranda yawned. "I'm really exhausted. I think something is wrong with me."

"You're feeling tired because you're not wearing your locket. How long have you had it?"

"Since Jarle found me. It's for warding off evil energy. I saw him perform the protection spell before he gave it to me."

"He lied. These lockets are magickal and are used strictly to bind one's heart."

She bit her bottom lip, appeared to be concerned. Maybe even a bit frightened.

"I'm not your enemy, Miranda. You can speak freely with me and I'll do all in my power to help you."

A deep breath escaped her precious mouth. "In addition to stealing objects for Jarle, I bind hearts for him. I do so only because he's threatened to kill me if I don't. So I'm well aware of what those lockets are normally used for, but the witch swore to me this one was solely for protection."

"Don't believe anything that bastard tells you." Callen's gaze drifted to the locket. "Do you mind if I open it?"

Miranda shook her head.

Callen worked the silver latch and popped the oval ornament in two. Inside rested a pulsing aura. A sprig of knotweed lay on top, a piece of obsidian wedged under the herb. "Here's the cause of your heart being bound." He pointed to the knotweed.

Miranda leaned forward and studied the tarnished case holding her heart's aura. "Take it out."

"If I remove the herb, Jarle will know since he's the one who worked the spell. And while it's connected to him in only a faint way, it's enough that he'll sense it's been tampered with. I say leave it be for now but keep the locket off your neck."

She reached for his arm. "Can he tell if I'm not wearing it?"

"Keep it near you, but not on you and you'll be fine." He handed the item back to her.

"If I don't get the sword Jarle sent me to retrieve, he'll kill me. He has a violent temper. Others in my situation have gone missing, never to be seen again."

"I won't let harm come to you. I promise."

Miranda sat back, a faraway look crossed her eyes. "He found me on the street. I was in a terrible state. So bad, I don't even like to talk about it. But Jarle helped me. His surgeons fixed my hands and feet."

Surgeons? That was a new one for the Viking witch. Sources at Wolfsden might not have been able track the bastard's every move, but they had always managed to know what the witch was up to last, even if it were after the fact. And surgeons were never mentioned. "What was wrong with you?"

She lowered her head.

"Miranda, I walk with a limp. You have nothing to fear from me. I would never judge you."

"This is going to sound ridiculous," she said.

"You can tell me anything." He took her hand in his. "You're safe with me. Your secrets are safe with me."

She swallowed. "I don't really remember much. It's all bits and pieces but my hands, they were like...like paws."

Now the change of eye color made sense. His sexy thief was more than just a witch, she also a wolf shifter. Cal let out a deep breath. He released Miranda's hand and ran his palms over his face. "He lied to you. Jarle lied about all of it. He has no surgeons and your hands did not need fixing."

Fear settled in Miranda's eyes. "What do you mean?"

He was going to have to tell her about being wolf and that might scare the hell out of her. She obviously never remembered shifting, with the exception of that one memory about her hands and feet. Who knew how she'd take the news? Her wolf was being suppressed for some reason and he needed to find out why. If it was by her own doing, it would take time for her to learn to set it free. If it was by Jarle's doing, releasing her wolf now could kill her. The matter needed to be discussed with care. "Do you remember anything else?"

"Sometimes I recall scenes where I'm surrounded by doctors. Jarle said they were experimenting on me, but I'm not so sure. I never felt like anyone did anything to me, but rather the other way around. Of course I've never told Jarle about those specific memories." She skimmed her fingers over the chair's tartan and toyed with a stray thread. "I know it sounds totally bizarre."

Not to him. "You have nothing to worry about with me. And you're safe at Wolfsden Keep, trust me on that. But I think we've talked enough for now. We can discuss more after dinner or in the morning, if you'd prefer. I'll take you up to your room and then fetch some food from the kitchen."

"You're letting me stay, even after I tried to steal your sword?"

"I'll never turn you over to Jarle. If you want to leave on your own accord, that's different." He prayed to God she wanted to stay. He couldn't take losing his mate.

"What about the artifacts?"

The items from the dig were the least of his worries at the moment. "They can wait."

She toyed with the small hole in the chair's plaid fabric. "I'll have to check-in with Jarle but not until mid-week. I can't tell him I've confided in you."

"Of course not. We'll think of something for you to say before the call needs to be made."

Miranda stood. "Can you really free me from the beast?"

He certainly hoped so. If not, he'd die trying. "I promise I'll do everything in my power to see to it you're not bound to that bastard."

If he couldn't fight Jarle, he could always barter with his sword and his own soul. The Viking witch would probably be more than glad to add a Highland wolf to his horde of slaves. He'd do anything to save his mate. Even if Miranda never cared to be his wife.

"Let's get you upstairs and settled." He took Miranda's arm. "I think you'll feel better after a meal and good night's sleep."

As he left the library, a dark presence stirred his wolf.

_Vidar._

The moody Viking was the last thing he needed now.

# 5

Vidar arrived in his usual brooding mood and refused to wait anywhere but the main hall. Callen found him sitting on a pile of four camouflage-patterned duffle bags stacked next to the bottom of Wolfsden Keep's main staircase, as he was coming down from the second floor after having settled Miranda in a guest room. The scent of lemon soap and crisp air lingered in the hall.

"Vidar."

"Highlander."

At least the man acknowledged him this time, which was more than he'd expected based on their past run-ins. "I'm sorry Mortimer asked you to come all the way out here. There really was no need."

The Viking stood. "I may not understand what my sister sees in your uncle, but Katya is all I have. And for her, I am here. No other reason. Besides, I had just arrived in Copenhagen last night, so it was not a far trip. Inconvenient, yes. Long, no." Reaching into his shirt pocket, Vidar retrieved a thin strip of leather and used it to pull back his blond hair into a low ponytail.

Callen eyed the bags. "I take it you'll be staying a while?"

Vidar's brow furrowed. "Why would think that?"

He nudged his chin toward the stack of duffle bags.

"Those do not contain clothes, but weapons." Vidar reached behind the bags and pulled out an overstuffed backpack, then raised it high. "This carries clothes."

"I doubt we'll be going to war, Viking."

"So say you. That bastard Jarle will have a different view. He may be a fellow Norseman, but he is no kin of mine. I detest the man."

At least they were on the same side in this incident. Encountering Vidar as an enemy had to be brutal. "I trust my uncle told you everything that Rhys told him?"

"About Miss Kendrick grabbing your sword, yes."

Vidar made the whole thing sound a bit dirty, which it wasn't. Though he did get quite an eyeful tackling Miranda afterward and he had to admit if he had his choice, he'd like to have her in his bed. But now was not the time to be thinking about Miss Kendrick's finer assets. He cleared his head of all images of her lovely breasts. "I'll need you to use your connections to find out what Jarle is planning to do with Miranda."

"The witch's slave?"

"Yes. But she won't be for long. I have her heart and I intend to free her."

A slow grin crept across Vidar's lips. "You are a sly one, Highlander."

"Excuse me?"

"You like this woman."

He was not giving the Viking details. "She's an enemy of my enemy. Nothing more."

Vidar walked up to him and slapped him on the shoulder. "Maybe you and I are not so different."

He was nothing like Vidar. "We're worlds apart."

"You're wrong. We are two of a kind, you and me. You have no pack because of the curse Jarle placed on you when he injured your leg. And I have no woman because of the curse placed on my wolf when my heart was mistaken for a vampire's and staked."

He'd never known the story behind Vidar's moodiness. "I had no idea you were staked."

Vidar dropped his hand from Cal's shoulder. "We will not speak of this again. Yes?"

"Understood."

"Now, about Jarle. What do you need me to do?"

Callen led Vidar in to the library. "I know you have vast connections among the Viking shifters. I need you to find out everything you can about Miranda Kendrick. She believes she's from New York and possibly worked in the medical field."

"That is not much to go on." Vidar helped himself to a beer at the bar. The man apparently had no problem making himself right at home.

"She's also wolf."

The Viking paused. "Now that I think of it, there was talk about two years ago, of a wolf captured by Jarle. But my men could not find proof of the story." Vidar sauntered over to the sofa, sat down and then propped his boot-covered feet onto the coffee table. With a single twist of his bare hand, he popped the cap on the beer bottle and tossed it into the ashtray on the glass-topped end table.

"Maybe Miranda is that wolf." Callen took a seat on the opposite sofa.

"If she is," Vidar said, "then she would be the first female wolf Jarle had ever captured. He usually prefers vampires and other night creatures. I wonder what makes your Miranda so different?"

He'd like to know that himself. "She's not my Miranda."

"But she will be. I see it in your eyes. She's your mate and you know it. You've smelled her scent, yes?" Vidar raised the beer to his lips and gulped.

"Has Jarle employed a group of doctors lately?"

A pensive look crossed the Viking's rugged face as he lowered the bottle. He shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. My sources keep fairly good tabs on the witch, though they don't always know where he's hiding, which is a major problem. But a medical staff would have been something we'd have found out about."

He wondered why Jarle had lied to Miranda. As his slave, he could have just had her do his bidding without covering up her background. "There must be something about Miss Kendrick that Jarle knows and needs. I don't think he took her simply to capture a wolf. As you said, he's never taken one of our kind in the past."

"No. He prefers to kill us, not jail us."

And yet Miranda had been kept alive for two years. He definitely needed to know why. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to leave you to have dinner with Rhys while I spend time with Miranda. With a bit of talk she might remember something more from her past."

"I tolerate you, Highlander. But not so much the other skirt-wearing Scot. Maybe I will eat alone tonight."

Callen stood. "Rhys is good company. And it's called a kilt, not a skirt."

"They are the same."

"Oh, no they're not. Also, if worn properly, they make tupping a hell of a lot easier."

"Tupping?"

Callen huffed. "Sex."

It took Vidar a moment. "Oh. I see. Less clothes to remove if you wear nothing underneath. I will have to remember that, Highlander. Maybe I need a skirt myself."

The image of the Viking sitting on his sofa going commando in a kilt was not something Callen cared to think about. "You know where the dining room is, and you've stayed in Katya's room before, so you know your way around upstairs. Will you need anything else?"

"I'm good. Go be with your woman."

Miranda was not officially his mate but repeating the fact to Vidar would be mute. "I'll see you in the morning."

He headed upstairs, but not without first stopping in the hall and checking that the castle door was locked.

A hint of sage seeped through the heavy wood portal.

Wolfsden rumbled.

"Don't fret, my old friend," he said, patting the door. "Jarle hasn't bested us yet."

If only war with the Viking witch wasn't imminent.

Miranda sat on the edge of the bed, her mind reeling with questions. What if that night in New York didn't actually happen? Did Jarle trick her into remembering something that never took place? That never was? The Viking witch was a master of persuasion. She'd witnessed him using his charms on countless victims over the last two years, and if he could stoop that low with her, he must have had good reason. The witch only did things to benefit himself. Which meant he was holding her captive for some purpose other than her owing him.

The notion sickened her.

Closing her eyes, Miranda thought back to the night Jarle had found her. The distinct smell of rubbing alcohol slammed her nose, followed by the visual of her paw-like hands and feet.

Fear filled her soul.

She took a deep breath and tried to relax. Other memories came and went, some more haunting than others like the sound of her bones cracking, the feel of her skin stretching and reshaping as her innards snaked around under her flesh, the metallic taste of blood coating her tongue, but in the end, regardless of the emotions they'd stirred in her, none of the memories offered clues to her identity or to how she had come to be on that street in the first place. The whole thing was beyond bizarre.

Maybe she just needed to concentrate harder, focus on whatever thoughts she had retained from her past prior to that night.

She scooted to the head of the bed, fell back and adjusted her shoulders against the soft, fluffy pillows under her neck.

Her mind drifted.

Counting to ten, Miranda allowed all tension to lift from her muscles.

The fleeting image of her standing in a bright, sterile room, running her fingers over the body of an injured dog...maybe a wolf...flickered through her mind. The animal, bloodied and gasping for air, pleaded with its eyes. She took the look as a warning, knew it to be a message that danger was heading her way. She concentrated and tried to force the memory to reveal more.

In an instant, her vision clouded with darkness, the small bit of memory fading to the back of her mind.

She opened her eyes and huffed.

On her own, she would never be able to break free from Jarle. She probably could fight him, wound him, maybe even weaken his magjck a bit. But in the end, the Viking witch would win out. She couldn't control her powers and she'd have to do so in order to defeat the likes of her vile captor. Jarle's magickal abilities were so far beyond that of an ordinary witch's, they probably weren't even measurable.

Callen MacHendrie was her only hope. At least he seemed to be as he sounded like he knew an awful lot about Jarle and how the ancient Viking operated.

But how could she expect the man to help her after she tried to steal his most prized possession? That damn sword seemed to mean the world to Callen. It didn't matter that he had offered his aid in trying to free her from Jarle. Taking his help would be wrong.

Guilt seeped into her bones and she only had herself to blame.

Thoughts of the sword filled her head.

Callen's fondness for the weapon went beyond a typical penchant for collecting ancient weapons. The man acted as if he'd die for the sword, like it was his best friend, or some supernatural extension of himself. Investigating the matter further was a must.

Leaning back, she toyed with the tasseled edge of one of the yellow pillows propped on the bed. So much for her imagined four-poster draped in velvet. This room was totally modern, from its plain, painted yellow walls, to its super-thin flat screen television. Not a single hint of medieval anything, anywhere.

Maybe Callen wasn't the man of her dreams. Just because he was handsome, rugged, sexy, and kissed like no dude should ever have the right to, didn't mean he was her perfect match. In fact, now that she thought about, she didn't like that he'd taken advantage of her.

Her mind wandered back to the kiss she'd shared with Cal in the storage room.

Well, maybe she liked it a bit.

Possibly even more than a bit.

Oh, who was she kidding? She thoroughly enjoyed the lip smacking. Even wished it would happen again. Callen MacHendrie was the hottest guy she'd met in the last two years.

The thought gave her pause.

Technically, since she had almost no memory of her life prior to Jarle, Cal was the hottest guy she'd _ever_ met. Even if he did have an out-of-the-ordinary attachment to wolves. At least it wasn't alligators or snakes. Wolves she could live with, reptiles, definitely not.

And talk about wielding magick. The way he had commanded that sword to fly off the ground was more than incredible. She could never even hope to achieve supernatural talent on such a high level. Cal was the genuine thing. And he seemed like a nice guy to boot.

If she learned anything over the last two years, it was that her ability to judge people was rarely wrong. Of course Jarle was her one mistake. Not that she didn't think him vile and disgusting, but she never saw him as having been a liar when it came to him telling her the details of the night he'd found her. Now she was starting to believe otherwise.

A knock sounded at the door.

She turned her head. "Come."

The door opened and revealed Callen standing in the hall, a silver tray in his arms. "Am I disturbing you?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. I was just laying here trying to decide what to watch on television." Admitting she was thinking about his magickal abilities and the way he'd kissed her didn't seem appropriate.

"I've brought dinner," Cal said, entering the room. His cane dangled from his wrist. "Nothing fancy. Just sandwiches, salad and a house wine. Cook also added a berry custard. Of course, if you'd like something different, I can go back to the kitchen."

"Sandwiches are fine." She scooted off the bed and went over to the table in the corner of the room and plucked her tote bag off the top and placed it on the floor.

Cal set the food down, then balanced his cane against the wall. "My uncle's brother-in-law, Vidar, arrived a short while ago, delaying dinner. I hope you didn't mind waiting."

"Not a bit. Besides, you've already done so much for me, I would have been glad even if I didn't get fed tonight."

A soft chuckle escaped him. "Trust me, going without food is not something that is tolerated at Wolfsden."

A slight rumble shook the castle.

"I think your home agrees with you," she said.

"About that." Callen gave her a strange stare. "Don't let the quakes and rumbles frighten you. Wolfsden is...well...let's just say it's not your typical castle. But it is fierce in its protection of my family and those associated with the clan. You'll come to no harm here, Miranda. I promise you that."

In an odd way, she believed the man. She also didn't fear the castle, as strange as that was to her, but being at Wolfsden was the most stability she'd experienced over the last two years. Even with all the castle's quirks. And with Callen's.

He walked around to her side of the table but left his cane against the wall.

"Your limp seems a little less pronounced," she said. "Is your leg feeling any better?"

"Oddly, yes."

"Good because I'm really sorry about kneeing you in the thigh. It was a gut reaction."

"Don't worry about it. I probably would have done the same if the roles were reversed." He pulled out the chair for her, the scent of his sage cologne teasing her nose.

She doubted she'd ever get enough of the man. Callen MacHendrie was definitely a guy she could get used to, even with his fascination of wolves.

"Maybe there is hope for you yet," she said.

"Hope?"

"On becoming date material."

"Oh. Right." He gave a slight grin. "I know we just met, Miranda. But believe me when I say I'm attracted to you."

"Love at first sight, ha?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that." He sat down in the chair across from her and shook out a cloth napkin before placing it over his lap.

Callen was definitely rising on the date list. "I think you were right about Jarle lying to me."

"Do you remember more from the night he said he found you?" Cal reached for a ham sandwich and placed it on his plate.

"I'm not sure. I tried to think back, but I only get flickering images. At least nothing I can really verify. I vaguely remember helping an animal, once. Possibly a dog or wolf. But I can't say for sure. And I do remember a few earlier memories, things from my childhood, like being a little girl and playing with herbs. Mixing leaves with a mortar and pestle. Nothing related to Jarle."

Callen reached across the table and poured Miranda a glass of wine from the bottle he'd brought with the food. "Vidar will have his men look into the matter. I relayed to him whatever information you told me and he feels he can help."

"Do you really think he can dig up clues to my true identity with Jarle being in the way? The witch moves around a lot, never stays in one town for long. And when he leaves he destroys all traces of him having been in that place. Scotland Yard and the FBI, working together, would never be able to track that bastard."

He laughed. "Trust me, Vidar's goons are good."

She prayed Callen was right. If not, she'd eventually have to go back to Jarle and if she returned without the sword she'd come to Dundaire to steal, she'd be going home to her grave.

Callen watched Miranda eat. The way she broke off a small piece of sandwich and brought it to her mouth, the way she toyed with the stemmed wine glass. Everything his mate did, he found interesting. And yet they were the basest things a person could do. Miranda was right, he was so screwed.

He reached for his wine and raised it to his lips.

"You said you are the oldest of your father's children. How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

He put down his glass. "Five blood brothers, plus Rhys. No sisters."

"Are you close to them all of them?"

"Verra. They all live on the grounds of Wolfsden, but in their own homes."

"And your father?"

"He lives here at the main castle but is in New Orleans at the moment."

"I can't imagine anyone wanting to leave this place. It's so beautiful and serene. I can actually hear myself think up here, unlike in the city. You must really enjoy it."

He took a moment to answer, not sure how to explain that the castle belonged to the pack's alpha and when his father was in residence, so too were a horde of rowdy wolves. Most nights, getting more than an hour of sound sleep was near impossible when all those unmated animals were at home. "When it's quiet, like now, yes."

Miranda toyed with the edge of the napkin next to her plate. "If you don't mind me asking, how did you injure your leg?"

_Crap_. Telling his mate a lie would not be right. But telling her the whole truth, without her prepared to accept his world, would do just as much harm. He had to find a balance between the two. "Jarle used my sword against me in a fight. After he sliced my leg with it, he cursed the blade. It's why I keep the weapon hidden as a cane, so its hex doesn't escape and harm anyone else."

Miranda's eyes flashed neon blue again. "Dude, that is so cruel. I'll kill him for that."

He laughed. "You've only known me a day and yet you're willing to go to war with a powerful witch to avenge what he did to me and you think I'm nuts for calling you my mate so soon?"

"Okay. So maybe I kinda think you're cute. But any woman would, you're a good-looking guy. It doesn't mean I'm ready to hop in bed with you. And certainly not marry you."

His lips curled upward. "I was not the one who mentioned marriage...yet."

"You said I am your mate, that's the same thing."

"I see I am going to have to learn quite a bit in order to figure out this courting business, Miss Kendrick."

She quirked an eyebrow. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you came from a different time. Your choice of words isn't always common."

He wasn't going to bring up his age before he was certain she could accept him as wolf. "I think we've talked enough about me tonight. Let's change the subject. How was your dinner? Do you need me to get you anything more?"

Miranda pushed her plate away. "No. Thank you. That sandwich hit the spot, even the salad was good." She wiped her hands on the napkin and then placed it back on the table.

"You still have to eat Cook's berry custard." Callen nudged a small crock off the tray.

"I couldn't."

She certainly didn't eat like a wolf. And if Miranda Kendrick was ever going to fit in at Wolfsden Keep, Callen was going to have to change her eating habits. "At least have a taste." He grabbed a spoon and scooped out the custard along with two blueberries from the top of the dish. Reaching across the table, he fed Miranda the dessert.

She moaned. A second later she smiled. "That is the most delicious custard I have ever tasted. I'll take the rest of it."

Callen laughed as he slid the crock to her side of the table. "It's addictive, I know. We keep it as a staple here at the castle as my dad really likes it and has fits if it's not available."

"It must be nice having a family." Sadness veiled Miranda's eyes.

He wanted to reach out, tell her she now had him, his brothers, his dad, the whole MacHendrie pack. But he'd already seemed desperate and didn't want to push his luck. "Do you remember anything about your parents or possible siblings?"

"Nothing. The few memories I have of me being a child are of me alone. But I am mixing herbs in the visions, so someone had to have taught me how to do that."

Miranda could have come from mixed lineage—one parent a wolf, the other a witch. His own mother had vampiric blood and was only half wolf. She was also a Celtic goddess. Mixing of breeds was common among some packs. "Other than what you've already told me, what else do you do for Jarle?"

"Most days I practice my spell casting. The rest of the time I tend to the coven's herbs, oils and ointments. I also, on occasion, work directly with the Viking..." She paused and started twirling the spoon in the custard dish. "I'm not proud of what I do, but I don't have a choice."

He reached for her hand. "What does the bastard make you do?"

"Aside from helping bind hearts of the living to Jarle, I also oversee the binding of souls that are owned by him in the Ever After. There's a ritual he has me perform, strengthening the tether between him and the souls he controls. It's basically binding a dead person's still heart."

"I wasn't aware he had the power to do such a thing. Or that he could pass that power on to you."

"He didn't pass anything on to me. My abilities were just...there. Somehow Jarle realized it and then forced me to use my gifts to do his dirty work."

"That's a horrible thing to do to a person."

She nodded, her coppery hair going a vibrant shade of orange mixed with reds as her head bobbed in the room's soft light.

He wanted nothing more than to lean forward and run his fingers through the long, silky locks. But kept his urges in check.

"I agree," she said. "Jarle is a cruel bastard in doing everything he does to others, not just what he puts me through. But I try, every chance I get, to weaken the spells if he isn't in the room or isn't watching me. I do it because I hope that some of those souls can break free of him. If he ever knew, he'd kill me."

Under his watch, Miranda was not going to have to worry about that bastard Viking. "Jarle canna touch you on my father's property. You're welcome to stay for as long as you like."

"He'll come for me if I don't go back."

"He'll have to face an army of..." He paused. Keeping his wolf secret was becoming increasingly difficult. "My father has good security. Trust me."

Miranda pulled her hand away from his. "But can any of them best Jarle's spell casting?"

"Believe me, my family has many witches among them. As a whole, we'll protect you."

She offered him a slight smile, but nothing enough to convince him that she believed his words.

And that pained him greatly, but at the same time it paled in comparison to the worry brewing in his soul over Jarle coming to Wolfsden. Vidar's men were good, but Jarle was wicked and wouldn't stop at anything to get what he wanted. And Miranda Kendrick was a powerful witch worth starting a war over.

# 6

Cal left shortly after dinner, Rhys calling him to say Vidar had already received information from his men and that one of his couriers would be arriving at Wolfsden shortly. The progress should have made Miranda feel better, but instead she was in bed, tossing and turning, and unable to sleep.

Visions of Jarle flooded her head.

On the nightstand, her cellphone buzzed.

She reached over and grabbed it, the smooth rubber casing cool against her skin.

Jarle's number appeared in black on the small lit-up screen in the center of the phone's front cover.

She wasn't supposed to check in tonight. What the heck was she going to tell the witch? He got violent when he didn't get the answers he wanted.

She flipped the phone open. "Hello?"

"You didn't call."

"It's not yet Wednesday."

"Did you get the sword?"

She hesitated.

"Miranda?"

"I've only been here a day."

Jarle's heavy breath filtered over the phone. He sounded like a fucking stalker. "A good thief would have had it in minutes. Did you fuck up on your own or is your failure the result of someone else's interference?"

"MacHendrie hasn't started cataloguing any weapons yet. The moment he does, I'll have access to all the swords in the castle. He's assured me of it. Besides, I don't want to rush things and risk making the man suspicious. You said I had a week."

Silence greeted her excuse. If Jarle didn't believe the lie, she was in deep shit. She didn't have a plan B.

"You need more protection. I'm increasing the charge to your locket."

A stabbing pain sliced through her heart. The witch was going to choke the life out of her. "What makes you think I'm in danger?"

"You should be appreciative of my concern, slave. I've invested a lot in your horrible excuse of a life and I want to keep what is mine safe. Is that clear?"

"Of course. But I've been very careful to stick with our ruse. MacHendrie doesn't suspect a thing and there hasn't been anyone here that I'd perceive as a threat against me. I don't see the need for increased protection."

Jarle growled. The reverberating noise vibrated against her ear as if it came from some demented beast. "I've been informed by my men that someone has been delving into your past and I don't want your secrets getting out. Do you?"

She was starting to think she didn't have secrets but letting Jarle in on that little tidbit wouldn't do her any good. Keeping a calm demeanor was best, though she'd really like to give the bastard a piece of her mind right about now. "Of course not." It was all she could think to say.

"What are you hiding from me, Miranda?"

Panic struck her nerves. "Nothing."

"If you don't bring me the sword, not only will you die, but Callen MacHendrie will suffer a loss so great, it will be unlike any pain he's endured over the last thousand years."

Thousand years? Cal? Impossible.

"Are you still there, slave?"

Crap her silence was getting her in trouble. "Yes, Jarle. I'm still here, still listening to you."

"I'm adding to your assignment."

The Viking witch never veered off his original course when it came to stealing artifacts. Why the heck did he want to switch things up with this job? "Go on."

"Besides the sword, there is a locket. It looks similar to yours but is much older and contains a ruby at the latch. It belonged to the woman I loved. Bring it to me, along with the blade."

She couldn't imagine Jarle ever loving anyone. The savage had a heart of stone, if he had a heart at all. "And what do I get in return?"

"I'll terminate our agreement. You'll be free."

"But you already agreed to that in exchange for the sword. I want extra payment if I have to also bring you the locket."

Jarle hesitated, took a deep breath. The noise came across like a barrage of static like those cheap horror flicks always showed, only this was real. Her Viking nightmare was real.

Miranda slid the phone away from her ear until she heard the witch speak again.

"And what compensation do you desire for a fucking locket, slave?"

"Leave MacHendrie alone."

"What has he done to you, Miranda? Filled your head with nonsense that he can save you from me? Do you know his uncle killed my wife?"

No. She did not know that fact.

"Or that he himself once attempted to kill me too?"

"I don't believe you. MacHendrie does not seem the type to have a temper, let alone be capable of attempted murder." She wasn't going to tell her master she knew all about the fight that had cursed Cal's leg.

Jarle paused.

Her throat grew dry. A prickling sensation stirred her every nerve. "I'll be careful around him."

Still she heard no sound from the other side of the phone.

"Jarle?"

"I'm still here, slave. If you want proof of what I've told you, check the locket. It bears an inscription of my lover's name—Aine—entwined with mine. We were engaged before that bastard Mortimer stopped me from marrying the woman. I settled for someone else and even that didn't please Callen's uncle. Mortimer killed my wife. Find my lover's locket and you'll know the truth. MacHendrie is a deceiver."

Now she didn't know who to believe. Jarle was a vile, wicked soul, but she knew what to expect from him. Callen was almost a stranger.

"I'll bring you the sword."

"And the locket?"

"Yes, and the locket. But this is the last job I'm doing for you, Jarle. It ends here."

"Believe me, I will have no trouble severing our agreement once you bring me what I want."

The phone went dead on the other end.

Miranda tossed it onto the nightstand and then flopped back onto the pile of pillows. Callen never mentioned that his uncle killed Jarle's wife. Nor did he mention the man's interference in the Viking witch's relationship with this Aine woman. Maybe her master had reason for being the bitter soul that he was.

Or maybe it was all just another trick. A deception she couldn't see through.

Either way, she wanted out. Risking her life just wasn't worth it. Nor was it worth risking Callen's life.

She only had one choice.

Get the sword and the locket, and then leave.

Walking away from Wolfsden was the best option for all involved.

# 7

Callen studied the documents spread across his desk and couldn't believe what he was reading. Vidar's men had done incredible work in such short time. "How did your guys manage to come across this much info in a matter of hours?"

"It is a long story, Highlander. But my position in preternatural society has changed recently and while my men have always been good at tracking supernatural lowlifes, I am now in a better position to deal with Jarle. The timing was just right."

"Do I need to post guards at my door?"

The Viking grinned. "I assure you, I obtained the information legally and did not even have to kill anyone. This time."

Vidar's words weren't exactly comforting, but he decided to trust the man for once. "Are you certain all this information is true?"

"Everything has been verified," Vidar said. "Miranda Kendrick is Miranda's real name. We just can't establish the whereabouts of her New York clinic because she was very good at keeping the business underground, and once Jarle found her he destroyed everything linked to her. But she was very good. Preternatural physicians of her skill level are rare, even in the city. Plus, she pretty much kept to herself. I doubt any other doctors who treat our kind would have even known her."

At least now he knew Miranda was right about thinking she had helped animals. As a doctor who tended to shifters she would have come across many of their kind. "She'll be happy to know some of the few memories she has left of her life before Jarle are real."

The Viking shook his head, his blond hair brushing against his massive shoulders. "What that man has done to Dr. Kendrick is despicable."

He couldn't agree more.

"Miranda is a rare breed," Vidar said. "She provided a safe environment for shifters who needed help, ensuring that their identities would be kept confidential, so they could get the medical care they needed. She tended to their wounds using her natural talents and never ask questions."

His mate was a born healer. No wonder the pain in his leg had eased after she'd kneed him in the thigh. He imagined she could do even better if she took a serious look at his wound. And she didn't seem to be affected by the curse in his leg, which meant maybe she was immune to some of Jarle's hexes. Still, it wasn't a chance he was willing to risk. At least not yet, but maybe eventually Miranda could find a way to help him. "How did she end up bound to that Viking bastard?"

Vidar pushed a file across the desk. "She was tending to one of the witch's slaves. A big cat. She tried to help the shifter by arranging for a safe house when Jarle found out and then took Miranda. It is believed the bastard killed or magickally hypnotized everyone who was connected to Dr. Kendrick's clinic. Pulling a few mind tricks on humans who would have questioned the act, would be easy for someone with his powers."

"Jarle gives witches a bad name."

"You don't need to tell me," Vidar said. "My mother was half-witch. I take offense to slime like that rotten bastard."

Callen paused. He closed the file and pushed it away. "What about her family? Is there no one looking for her?"

Vidar offered a sympathetic look, which was not typical of the harsh Viking warrior. "Your Miranda is an immortal wolf, but a new wolf, born only twenty-seven years ago. She was orphaned at a young age, taken in by her grandmother who taught her the skills of a witch. The woman died when Miranda was in college. She's been on her own ever since and has no other relatives that my men could find."

"With no family to be concerned for her, Jarle could do anything to Miranda and never have to pay for it. No one probably even knows she's missing. Miranda's heart locket must be destroyed."

Vidar gave him a serious stare. "Be very careful, my friend. If you don't break the binding spell first, the person whose heart aura rests inside the locket, will die."

He hadn't thought about complications, though he should have known better as Jarle never did like losing. Once he'd get his claws into a person, he'd hold on for eternity. "I appreciate the help, Vidar. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Well, we are family now. And Katya would kill me if I didn't help. So, I make the best of the situation."

"Maybe I can repay the favor one day."

The Viking smiled one of his broad, almost dopey grins. "If I can think of anything, I will let you know."

Heaven help him, but whatever Vidar would one day ask of him, it would be worth doing for the sake of keeping Miranda safe and for making her happy. He couldn't wait to tell her what Vidar's men had discovered about her past, but he didn't want to disturb his mate at this late hour. Miranda had been through enough today and allowing her a good eight hours of restful sleep was the least he could give her.

He hoped she'd be pleased with the news. But even if she couldn't come to terms with who she really was and what had happened to her, he still had to find a way to free her from Jarle. And with only six days left before Miranda had to go back to the witch, time was running short.

# 8

Miranda hadn't seen Callen since dinner last night, but she figured getting to work first thing in the morning was best if she wanted to stop thinking about that damn phone call from Jarle. The witch's scratchy voice had stayed in her head most of the night, costing her serious hours of sleep. She wasn't going to lose a day's work to the bastard, too.

Hovering over the table, she grabbed a bag from the last box she'd been working from and slid out the piece of jewelry inside.

A light clunk sounded as the gold Celtic brooch—shaped in the form of an intricately carved horse's head—touched the table. It was truly one of the most beautiful pieces she'd ever come across and while Jarle had a knack for amassing quite the collection of prized jewels himself, she doubted any piece he'd had her steal over the last two years possessed the magick these items contained. Unlike her master's horde of jewels, all pieces in the MacHendrie collection bore a significant glow, though she did wonder if the pulsing auras were visible to everyone or just to people who accepted magick. The notion intrigued her.

Clutching the brooch, Miranda moved her hand through a ray of sunlight cutting across the table and highlighting the open page of her log book. The room's three arched windows added the perfect amount of natural light to the space and that made her job of inspecting the artifacts easier.

She scribbled in details of the horse-shaped pin, starting with the fact that it had survived in good condition, its three amber stones still intact. When finished, she moved the piece aside and went for a silver cuff etched with ornate scroll work, a wolf's head at its center. The flourish reminded her of the intricate design on the silver beads Jarle wore in his hair. Dropping the artifact, she jabbed her hand into her jeans pocket and rolled the cool beads stored there against her fingers.

A tingling sensation caressed her skin.

She immediately pulled her hand back and rested it on the table. A vibrant white aura pulsed around her fingers, pricked her flesh like a thousand tiny needles, the active energy drawing nearby items to her, including the baggie that had previously housed the wolf cuff.

_Holy cow_. Absorbing power from Jarle wasn't something she'd ever done before. Maybe the air up here at Dundaire _was_ magickal.

A sudden sense of dread filled her.

What the heck was she going to do with this new-found talent? Jarle's magick was vile. She didn't want to use it the wrong way.

Shaking off the cuff's baggie from her hand, she wiped her fingers against the front of her t-shirt, the white cotton fabric soothing her palm.

The tingling in her fingers ceased, as did the pulsing aura.

Her focus returned to the cuff. She'd hoped by starting early, and working alone, she'd get a chance to search the bins for Jarle's mysterious locket, but the item remained elusive.

"You didn't come down to breakfast," Callen said.

She jumped and looked up, saw him standing in the doorway, his black hair having that slightly messy, just out of bed, tousled appearance. A gray cotton shirt and worn jeans added to his ruggedness. No man had a right to look that sexy. "I wanted to get a head start on cataloguing, since we didn't get a full day's worth of work in yesterday."

"I would have thought you'd prefer to discuss the report Vidar's men sent over. Didn't Rhys give you the message?"

"He did, but I wanted to get this work done." She wasn't going to tell Cal about last night's little talk with Jarle. "I appreciate you going out of your way for me with asking Vidar to help. But I've decided I don't want anything from you. I just want to do what I came here to do and then leave."

Leaning on his cane, Cal entered the room and approached the table. "So, you want to steal my sword and go back to Jarle?"

She held her head low. "No. I want to catalogue these crates and then go back to my master." She turned away and stretched for a new box a bit further down the table.

Callen watched her, intently, his brown-eyed gaze scorching her like some super-hot heat lamp. Even the skin over her spine felt seared.

"Something's wrong," he said. "And don't lie to me because I can sense your anxiety."

She had to tell him something or he probably wasn't going to let the matter rest. "Last night I had time to think and I don't want to involve you in my battle with Jarle."

"You won't be able to escape the Viking on your own."

"I can try. And don't worry, I have no plans on stealing your sword. But if I can have another, it will buy me time until I can figure out how to fight the witch."

"It's not about the damn sword, Miranda." He rested his cane against the back of a nearby chair and then reached for her hands. "We need to talk about what Vidar told me last night."

She wanted to talk about what Jarle had told her last night but knew better. Callen MacHendrie might appear to be a tame man on the surface, but she didn't know him. And even if Jarle had lied, and Callen and his family were innocent of the crimes the Viking had accused them of, she had the distinct feeling the Highlander would not take the news of the witch's allegations, lightly. Which could lead to a huge war with Jarle. And garnering more trouble from that Viking beast was not something she needed. "Fine. We can talk. Now."

Cal frowned, but agreed. He let go of her hands, backtracked across the room and then closed the door.

She moved the artifacts out of the way and rested her elbows on the table top. In the process a strip of masking tape came unglued from one of the baggies near the table's edge and stuck to her t-shirt. "I'm all ears."

Callen sat down in the chair next to her. "First you have to understand that some of what I'm about to tell you might not seem logical. But it is all true."

"I live with a maniacal witch," Miranda said. "Logic hasn't been part of my world for two years now."

Cal took a deep breath. A concerned look crossed his handsome face. "I don't want to cause you any more pain than you've already been through, so I'm warning you, whatever you do, don't panic at what I'm about to tell you or show you. Just know I will not harm you."

She furrowed her brow. "You do realize you're sounding a bit...touched in the head." She twirled her finger at her right temple and whistled.

"I'd rather have you think me crazy, then never know the truth."

She wondered if he'd feel the same if she told him what Jarle had accused him of last night. "Go ahead, I'm ready to hear whatever you have to say."

He shifted in the chair. "Miranda Kendrick is your real name. And you are a New Yorker, born and bred."

The news came as a relief. At least not everything about her past was lost. "If I really am Miranda Kendrick, we have a name to go by. Which means I must have some sort of paper or digital imprint that can get us more information."

"To a degree, yes. But apparently, you're very good at covering your tracks."

She didn't understand. "Okay. Now you're starting to freak me out. Am I a mass-murderer or something?"

He gave up a soft laugh, revealed his perfectly straight, white teeth. "No. Quite the opposite in fact. You're a doctor. A veterinarian to be precise."

"That's why I remembered the dogs." She plucked the masking tape off her shirt and rolled it into a ball before sticking it on the table's metal surface.

Leaning forward, Callen offered her a serious stare, the gold flecks in his brown eyes seeming to grow brighter. "Dogs weren't your only patients. You were helping one of Jarle's slaves, a woman who wanted to escape the witch but couldn't on her own. In the process Jarle learned what you were up to and that is how you came to be bound to him."

"But you said I was a vet. Why would I be helping a woman?"

Cal swallowed. "This is going to be hard to accept, but you need to know."

She doubted anything could surprise her at this point. As a day job she bound hearts to an ancient Viking witch, what could be more absurd to believe than that? "I can take it. Working for Jarle placed me in some very funky situations."

"I wouldn't call what I'm about to say, funky."

"Just tell me."

Callen hesitated, but only for a second. "The woman you were helping was a shapeshifter. A feline shifter."

She believed in magick and witchcraft, but people turning into animals? Impossible. "That can't be."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Miranda. I have no reason to." Cal slid off the chair. "I'm going to show you something and I don't want you to freak out."

"Keep going."

Callen stepped away from the table. "Whatever I do, remember I won't harm you. Don't panic at what you're about to see." He closed his eyes, seemed to be concentrating on something very serious.

Miranda folded her arms. MacHendrie might have a good heart, and a hot bod, but the guy was definitely missing a few marbles upstairs. Maybe that's why he lived up here in Dundaire. Maybe his family kept him at Wolfsden so he wouldn't cross paths with normal, sane folk. Money could buy even the craziest person confidentiality. At least to a degree.

She leaned over the table and studied Callen.

The man hunched his back. His hands shifted form, changed into paws. His entire body morphed. In a matter of mere seconds her sexy Scot had shifted into...a wolf. A real live, fur-covered wolf. His clothes were nowhere to be found, vanished just as had Callen's human form.

Her heart skipped a bit. And not in a good way.

She inched off the chair.

That overwhelming urge to howl returned. Was she a shifter too? Her lips curled into a snarl.

_"Don't fear me, Miranda. I won't bite."_

"What?"

" _You're snarling. Are you scared of me?_ "

Oh. My. God. He was really in her head now. "How did you do that?"

_"It's called morphing"_

"No, not the physical thing, the getting into my head part. And no, I'm not scared of you. The snarl was just...out of instinct, I guess. How long have you been able to read my mind?" She blushed at the thought Callen might have known about her four-poster bed fantasy. And what she was doing with him in said bed.

" _I just shifted from human to wolf and all you want to know is how can I get into your head? Aren't you curious about the wolf part or anything else?_ "

"I would like to know how old you are."

" _I'm immortal. I've lived for more than a thousand years_."

Jarle was right about Callen's age. She wondered if that meant he was right about other things, too. "You don't look a day over twenty-eight, twenty-nine."

" _I told you before, looks are deceiving._ _It's just the way things work with us_. _Everyone in my family looks young. When you meet my father, you'll see what I mean_."

She took a few steps forward and held out her hand, ran the tips of her fingers over Cal's now gray-haired head.

He nipped at her wrist. "Hey, you said you didn't bite."

" _No. I said I wouldna bite. There's a difference. And that was a nip, not a bite._ "

She inched back and thought about what she'd just witnessed. If she could believe Jarle capable of capturing her heart's aura in a locket, why not believe Callen MacHendrie could shift form? "The memory of me having paws for hands and feet. Do you think that was real or was Jarle just messing with my mind on that one?"

" _You're my mate, Miranda. I know it for fact. You're as much wolf as am I, but I believe you are also half-witch. Your grandmother was a witch._ "

It was nice to know something of her roots. But this whole wolf business intrigued her more for the moment. Now she knew why she'd had the urges to howl every now and then. "Are we humans who can take wolf form or the other way around? And how old do you think I am? As old as you? Am I immortal, too?"

" _We're both humans who can shift into wolf. But the other kind do exist. As for your age, Vidar says you're a new shifter. You've only been here for twenty-seven years. But yes, you're immortal._ "

Excitement thrummed through her body. She was never going back to Jarle now. She couldn't. She wanted to know about the MacHendrie wolves and their magickal world of shifting. "Teach me to take wolf form."

" _Morphing canna be taught. It must be brought about from the core of your soul._ "

"Oh." She frowned. "There's no way I'll ever be able to do it. I just can't wrap my head around the dynamics, despite now believing it possible."

" _I'm sure you've done it before. Before Jarle came into your world. You'll do it again, when you're ready._ "

Her gaze traveled to his right hind leg. A nasty pink scar ran down the length of it and the section was free of fur. "Is that scar the result of Jarle's attack?"

" _It is._ "

She reached over and trailed her fingers down the furless stretch of leg. "How could he have done this to you?" She'd have gone after Jarle too, if he'd jammed a sword into her leg. The pain Callen endured had to have been horrific.

A whine escaped Cal's mouth.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to hurt you."

" _It's okay. Just a bit tender to the touch. Though I must admit, the feel of your hand warms the scar and that's never happened before._ "

"Maybe we can work on it. I've formulated numerous salves in Jarle's potting shed, several specifically for soothing sore muscles. If Rhys can get the ingredients, I can recreate them here."

" _I'll talk to him._ " __ Callen turned around and padded across the room, his wolf body disappearing behind the table.

"Where are you going?"

" _To shift back._ "

"Why are you hiding?"

He gave a low growl.

"Callen?"

" _This was not a well-planned morph, Miranda. I will be naked when I change back._ "

She rounded the table.

" _A bit of privacy, please._ "

"This coming from the same man who didn't seem to mind taking in a good view of my breasts yesterday. Where was the privacy there?"

" _Touché. But this is different. I will be fully naked._ "

"And your point being?"

Callen growled again, a low guttural noise that sounded more annoyed than angry. " _There is a kilt in the wardrobe on the far wall, in a box on the top shelf. Please bring it to me._ "

"A polite wolf. Now that's something I would have never expected."

" _Just bring the kilt, Ms. Kendrick._ "

Miranda headed for the wardrobe. "You're also a grumpy little dog."

" _Do not call me dog. Or little._ "

She didn't trust herself to remark on the size comment. "You certainly bark orders like a dog. I hope you don't expect me to cook dinner every night because that won't be happening. I'm more a microwave chick."

" _Planning on sticking around, are you?_ "

"Crap. I didn't mean to say that out loud."

" _Too late._ "

She returned, kilt in hand, and froze. "What am I supposed to do now? I think it might be too heavy to drape over you."

" _You think me that weak?_ "

"No, but..."

" _Just leave it on the floor._ "

She placed the blue plaid garment at Cal's feet.

" _Now turn around. Please._ "

"You are such a prude. I really didn't expect that from you."

Callen remained silent on the matter.

A few seconds later she felt the touch of his hand on her shoulder. She spun around. Her hot Scot was back.

Miranda licked her lips, her gaze taking in the whole of Cal's naked torso, from his ripped chest to his bulking biceps. The man was more gorgeous without clothes than she had imagined. "You really need to get a velvet-draped, four-poster bed."

"Need? I already have one."

"Get, out." She slapped him on the chest. A playful little pat.

He pulled her close.

The aroma of bergamot filled her space, a note of clove topped it off. She ran her hand over his chest, brought her head to rest against his shoulder. "You smell incredible."

"It's my wolf scent and only you can detect it." Callen gently nudged Miranda off him, then lifted her chin with his finger. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against hers.

Heat warmed Miranda's body. The taste of fresh lime lingered on her tongue, coated her mouth as Cal's tongue danced with hers. Callen MacHendrie was a man she could easily fall into bed with, maybe even love.

Cal deepened the kiss.

Oh yeah. She could definitely get used to this.

She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He grabbed the hem of her shirt and slipped his large hand underneath.

Miranda's skin tingled.

Her bra's front clasp popped.

Callen didn't waste a second. He had her shirt over her head and on the floor in a flash. The bra went flying as well and she didn't give a fig. Her wolf could undress her any day.

_Her wolf_. Oh, God, she was in the danger zone. What the hell was she doing thinking of Cal as hers?

"We're mates, Miranda. We can't help but be attracted to each other."

"But we just met."

"It's the way MacHendrie wolves operate. It's built in to our DNA. And yours."

She ran her fingers over his shoulder. "You really shouldn't read my mind."

He grinned. "I'll try not to."

He lifted her and sat her on the table before dipping his head to her right nipple. His tongue darted out, caressed her swollen bud with vicious licks, brought it to a full peak.

Pain mixed with pleasure as the tip of her breast grew taught.

Her eyes flashed neon again.

She gave a little howl.

_Damn_. Cal was right. She was a wolf and they _were_ mates, there was no denying it. She wanted him.

Miranda reached for the open side of Cal's kilt and slipped her hand under the fabric. Her fingers glided over his hard penis.

He hissed, a little noise that came out sounding almost as if he was trying desperately to keep control.

And maybe he was. "Have you ever been married?" She couldn't help but ask.

"Do you really have to get all inquisitive now?"

"We're about to have sex. Don't you think I should know something more about you other than you live in a castle, are part wolf and are really, really old?"

"You make me sound ancient."

"Technically, you are."

He huffed.

"But I'd say in your case, age doesn't matter." She clasped her hand around his thick girth.

Callen's cock twitched in her hand. She liked knowing she had some hold over him, that his body welcomed her touch.

"For the record, no, I have never been married." He paused. "But you should know that if we do this, there will be no going back."

She had nothing to go back to. But even if she did, she had no desire to return to a life that didn't include Callen. "I want to be yours, Cal. I trust you, trust in what you've told me about MacHendrie wolves and their mates. Besides, I can't explain the feelings I have for you."

He leaned his forehead against hers. "You'll have to accept my pack, even if they don't accept me. Do you understand that? It won't be easy."

"Why wouldn't they accept you?"

He let out a deep breath. "With my leg, I am not capable of leading them the way a true alpha should. I have been alone for a long time because of my wound."

She wanted to be his regardless of what the MacHendrie wolves thought of him. "But you said I'm your mate."

"Aye. And we mate for life."

"Then I will be yours for life." She pulled his head down and kissed him.

A groan escaped Callen's throat. He slid his hand to her waist and undid the zipper of her jeans, then tugged them off her legs.

She shimmied out of her lace panties and spread her legs wide for him. Her desire to be taken by Callen was something she couldn't explain, but it was overwhelming, controlling her every inch. Maybe it was due to the wolf in her soul, the wolf that had been suppressed for the last two years and needed to be let free now.

"I should take you in my bed. This is not proper, claiming you on a table."

"There's no time, Cal. I want you to take me here. Now."

He hesitated. "The pack will know we've mated. They'll notice the change in my scent, though they won't smell the same fragrance you detect on me. I urge you to think about this, Miranda, because from this moment on, your life will be changed."

The strong desire to be claimed by him, to allow him to show his pack he had a mate, consumed her. "The pack must know I'm yours. I want them to know you now have a woman who will stand by you."

"You truly are my mate, Miranda. Any other female would not be doing what you're agreeing to now."

He positioned himself between her thighs and ran his hand over her inner leg.

Heat radiated from his fingers, warmed her flesh and shot up to her clit. She clenched.

Callen reached for her mound, rubbed his thumb over the sensitive prize.

Miranda moaned. As she enjoyed the flick of Cal's finger against her clit, she worked his cock with her hand. Wrapping her fingers more firmly around the hard length of him, she then pumped up and down, noting that her hands barely contained him, his girth so thick.

Cal went back to teasing her nipple with his masterful tongue. First, he toyed with the right one, then he teased the left bud. In seconds both her peaks were protruding to the point of pain, but it was an agony she enjoyed thoroughly.

She thrust her breasts closer to his mouth.

A bead of liquid touched her palm as she caressed the tip of Cal's penis.

He pushed her hand away, and then lifted his kilt and brought his cock to her slit. One finger dipped inside her. "Christ, Miranda, you are so wet. And tight."

"Love me, Callen."

"I cudna refuse, even if I wanted to." He slid his penis inside her, just enough to tease her sensitive walls.

She offered up a little whine. "Don't stop there. Please."

A chuckle escaped his lips. "You're a wanton little wolf."

"I can't help it. I've never felt like this before."

"It's the animal in your soul, Miranda. It might have been suppressed, but it's still there and that's a good thing."

Callen inched his cock deeper into her.

Like a million little pings of pleasure, a sweet pulse rippled through her privates. She clenched, held tight to Cal's long, hard penis.

He pulled out with a moan that teetered on the verge of a grunt.

A soft groan rose in her throat.

Callen slid back inside, this time with a fiercer thrust, a pound that hammered her and sent the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, echoing through the room.

She gripped the table's edge and met Cal's every move. She even raised her legs, bent her knees and had her feet on the cool metal surface, giving Callen all access to push as deep as he could go.

He grunted, his breath coming in pants as he rammed into her over and over. He reached one hand up and pinched her right nipple.

"Oh, don't you dare stop that, either."

"Look at me," he said, staring directly into her eyes.

She met him straight on. And bit her bottom lip as she slid back on her elbows and parted her lips as a slight little 'oh' fell from her mouth.

Pleasure exploded inside her. Miranda let out a cry and leaned forward, wrapped her arms around Callen's neck and rode out the exquisite sensation until she could move no more.

Cal held her steady, then pumped one last time, spilling his seed into her tight slit. A low howl came from his core.

Mating with her Alpha wolf was a pleasure she would have never imagined, even in her wildest dreams.

After they'd made love, Callen helped Miranda back into her clothes. Knowing he now had a mate, pleased him beyond anything he could have imagined, the sensation lingering somewhere between elation and concern, because even though he had wanted to protect her the moment he had realized Miranda was indeed his destiny, the desire to keep her safe was now tenfold.

"Why do you think my touching your wound, made your leg pain ease? I mean, aside from me being a doctor and a witch. Why me?" Miranda asked.

"I believe you have a special healing gift."

She adjusted her t-shirt and then stared at his kilt. "Can I see your wound, in human form now?"

He frowned. "I don't know if that is a good idea."

"We just banged our brains out, I think looking at your thigh would not be considered taboo."

"No. I don't mean it in that way. I'm concerned for your safety. In order for the curse to be lifted from my leg, it will either have to be totally destroyed or be completely absorbed by someone else. And it can only be done while I'm in human form. That's why it was okay for you to purposely touch my wound while I was wolf. But not now. I don't want to put you at risk. Yesterday's aid happened by chance. And until I know you won't be put in danger by working directly on my leg, to the extent you'd have to work it to heal it completely, I won't have you near it. An accidental or quick touch, apparently won't harm you, but anything more and we enter unknown territory."

"Then I definitely have to try one of those salves I spoke about earlier. I can make it and you can apply it yourself."

He nodded. "That would be acceptable."

She reached her hand for his chin. "You're an agreeable wolf. I thought alphas were hot-headed, dominant animals."

"I'm a beast with my enemies. Not with my mate."

"I might like this being your mate thing."

He chuckled. "You like me now but wait until my father comes home and brings the pack with him. They are a rowdy bunch and the single wolves tend to camp out here a lot. They like living in the castle. Better get your sleep while you can."

The door opened, and Vidar walked in. He glanced at Callen's kilt. "Sorry to intrude on the tupping." He inched back.

Miranda quirked an eyebrow. "I am familiar with the term and you are not intruding, sir."

"He's no sir," Callen said. "Trust me on that. Though he is family, since he's my uncle's brother-in-law. But unfortunately, I can't do anything about that."

Vidar remained at the door. "Very funny, skirt wearer. I will come back, later."

"Don't leave," Miranda said. "Do you have more information for me?"

"No, Dr. Kendrick. I'm afraid the reason for me being here now only concerns MacHendrie."

"I think I'll go find Rhys," Miranda said. She headed for the door. "Thank your men for helping me, Vidar. I appreciate everything they've done."

The Viking nodded, then stepped aside to allow her to pass.

Once Miranda was out of ear shot, Callen motioned for Vidar to take a seat. "What did you learn?"

"Jarle is on the warpath. He knows my men have been looking into Miss Kendrick's background. He'll be coming for her soon. Of this I am certain."

The news was not what he wanted to hear. If he could hold off Jarle until his father brought the pack back, then maybe he'd have a decent shot at defeating the vile Viking witch. But with just him, Rhys and Vidar, it was a long shot. "Can you get reinforcements here in time? We can't do this just the three of us."

Vidar clamped him on the shoulder. "They are already on the way, my friend."

He was never so glad for Vidar in all his life. "Good, then we will be ready."

"There is more."

This couldn't be good. "Spill it."

"He wants your mother's locket."

What did his mother's locket have to do with Jarle? "We don't even know where it is. And why would Jarle want it? It's not a heart locket."

"No, but it could be used as one to bind her soul in the afterlife. My mother once told me that there were witches capable of performing the heinous act, of claiming souls long after they had passed from this earth."

Jarle had no right. Anger infused Callen's veins to the point he thought he might literally explode. "I will not let that bastard harm my mother's peace. Besides, despite having passed from this plane, she is still a goddess. Even in death those powers remain with her soul. Why would Jarle even attempt such a thing?"

"My men overheard him talking to someone saying that Mortimer killed his wife. I think he wants revenge. You mother was Mortimer's half-sister, the only female in his family. By Jarle binding her soul, it would avenge his wife's death."

Callen fisted his hands. So much had gone on in the past with Jarle, but Mortimer was not a cold-blooded killer. "If Jarle is after Mortimer, then Katya could be in danger as well."

Vidar shook his head. "After what we went through with my own vile uncle, my sister has learned how to keep her heart safe. She cannot be bound to Jarle. She now uses a spell my grandmother taught her, to protect her heart, and the bastard can't break it."

That left only his mother. The only other female linked to Mortimer. "I will not have that son-of-a-bitch curse my mother's soul."

"Find the locket and she'll remain at peace."

Thank goodness he had Miranda here. He was going to need her help if he had any chance of going through the entire horde of jewelry before Jarle arrived.

# 9

Rhys was nowhere to be found, despite Miranda searching Wolfsden Keep from top to bottom. Even the kitchen staff hadn't seen the butler, though they did suggest he might be found somewhere on the grounds.

She wandered out to the back gardens and stopped midstride on the gravel path between two rows of roses.

A wolf with ice blue eyes stood square in her way.

" _Don't be afraid Miss Kendrick_."

"Rhys?"

" _Please don't tell Callen I'm out here in wolf form_. _He doesn't like me running around the estate during daylight hours._ "

"Then why do it?"

" _I'm not sure other than it is a need I have. It can't quite be explained, I'm afraid._ "

"Your secret is safe with me." Her cell phone buzzed. Retrieving it from her jeans pocket, Miranda glanced at the screen and swiped for the text message. A deep breath escaped her.

" _Bad news?_ "

"It's Jarle. He wants me to return to Inverness tonight."

" _You can't go to him._ "

She joined Rhys on the ground and crossed her legs, the grass's cool surface seeping through her jeans. At least she was sitting in direct sunlight at the moment, which did help take off the slight shiver that caressed her spine. "I need to convince Jarle that it's in his best interest I remain here. But he's not easily fooled."

" _You could offer him the hope of a treasure greater than Callen's blade._ "

"What do you propose?"

Rhys stood and pranced the path, then circled Miranda. He settled down next to the roses, his light gray fur appearing almost white in the sunlight. " _Tell Jarle another batch of artifacts are due to be delivered from the dig and that you overheard Callen talking about magickal items being contained in it and possibly even a few Viking pieces._ "

"Jarle is a greedy beast. I once watched him give up a family heirloom in exchange for increased power. If he thought there might be something of his in the batch, he might just go for it."

" _Text him back and tell him you can't return to Inverness tonight. And say why._ "

Her fingers worked the buttons on her phone as she prayed Jarle would fall for the ruse. "If this doesn't pan out, that vile dude will be here in no time."

A few seconds later her phone dinged.

Rhys stuck his snout toward her hand. " _Did he bite?_ "

"He did indeed." A smile spread across her lips.

The genius butler raised his paw. " _I hope you don't mind my paw for a high-five, but I can't change back in your presence. My clothes are not nearby._ "

"Is that common?" She slapped him back, her palm hitting the pad of his front right paw.

" _At Wolfsden, yes. Especially when the pack is here. Those wolves rarely plan their morphing. Clothes get strewn everywhere, including out here in the gardens and it ticks off Callen greatly. Though not so much his father. Bane only takes issue with his grandsons marking their territories. So, fair warning—don't leave anything in a corner or on the floor if you don't want it peed on. Bane scolds his sons constantly for not raising their sons with stricter rules. They run wild at Wolfsden._ "

"Callen is close to his father and brothers, isn't he?"

" _Verra. They are an incredibly tight bunch. Bane adopted me years ago and never once has he made me feel anything less than his blood son. The brothers are no different._ "

"Then why are you their butler?"

_"It is just how I feel. My way of repaying Bane. But I am an equal among the family."_

She hoped they would all accept her and not give Cal a hard time about taking a mate associated with Jarle. If he ever told them how she'd come to be his mate, with her stealing his sword, the males of Wolfsden would probably hate her.

" _I should get back_ ," Rhys said.

"Me to. By now Vidar and Callen should be finished talking and I want to get more items catalogued." She rose and turned toward the castle's back door but stopped midstride. "Since I'm keeping a secret for you from Callen, I expect you to do the same for me. If you don't mind."

Rhys bobbed his wolf head. " _I won't say a word to Callen that we've deceived Jarle. If he ever found out, he'd put me out in the kennel with the real dogs._ "

"He has dogs?"

" _A few strays he took in last year. They were abused and don't like being around the pack much. Callen built a super luxurious kennel for them on the far end of the estate. They seem to be content there._ "

Her hot Scot had a soft side. She liked that about Callen. Maybe he'd let her open an animal hospital at Wolfsden, if she survived this mess with Jarle. It was something to think about.

# 10

Miranda's little deception against her wicked master seemed to work perfectly as Jarle hadn't checked up on her in four days. Of course to pay back Rhys for coming up with the ploy, she had to agree to keep Callen occupied while he ran around the grounds in wolf form, every other day. Not that it took much to distract Cal, nor did she mind.

The days and nights she'd had with Callen were spent learning more about her mate and about the MacHendrie wolves in general. She even spoke with Cal's father—who had decided to extend his stay in New Orleans—via the computer, and Callen was right, he and his dad did look the same age.

But the best of these last few days came the moment she shifted, which was magnificent, though not nearly as glorious as was the love making she and Callen had engaged in. The man was made for sex. In bed. Out of bed. Under the stars. She doubted it could get any better.

She only prayed Cal could find a way to free her from Jarle before tomorrow. Once the witch realized she wasn't bringing the hexed sword, the locket, or a crate full of Viking objects, he was going to make her pay. And that scared the hell out of her. But she'd do anything to save Callen and his beautiful Wolfsden Keep.

Stepping away from the three trays of food—eggs, English muffins, and bacon—all lined in a single row down the center the table, Miranda popped the last bit of egg and muffin into her mouth and headed out of the dining room. Mornings at Jarle's rarely included a good meal. She was going to miss the food at Wolfsden if she couldn't stay.

Entering the storage room, she grabbed her notebook from the counter and walked over to the stack of crates on the far wall. The scent of bergamot drifted to her side of the room.

Turning around, she watched Callen stride into the chamber. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep."

"You should have said something. Is there anything I can do?"

She was sure he could do a lot of things to tire her out, but using up all her energy making love, wasn't going to help her fight Jarle. "No, but thanks. I think I'm just concerned about possibly having to go back to Inverness."

"I won't let that happen."

"I know you don't want it to happen, but I can't have you risk Wolfsden to try to save me from Jarle. I will find a way to fight him on my own."

A slight vibration rattled the room, loosened a few pebbles from between the stones that made up the castle's outer walls. "I like you, too, Wolfsden. If that is what you are saying. But please stop or there won't be anything left to you." She leaned forward and patted her hand against the stone wall.

The shaking ceased.

"He doesn't usually listen that quick."

"I'm honored," she said. "And that is precisely why I can't have you putting your castle, or your pack, or even yourself or Rhys, in danger. I will stand up to Jarle myself."

Callen frowned. "Don't take this the wrong way, but that bastard is beyond powerful. Until you can master your skills, I don't think you can fend him off."

She let out a huff, despite realizing Callen only meant well. "I am more than capable of defending myself. But let's not talk about it right now. I'd rather focus on the artifacts. What are we looking for today?"

"My mother's locket."

Her heartbeat revved. "What?"

"My mother had a locket and it was lost when Jarle's ally destroyed my uncle Mortimer's keep. That's where all these items are from, the dig at Castle Dundaire, my uncle's ancestral home."

"I see." She couldn't tell him that Jarle wanted the same locket, Cal didn't even know she'd spoken to the Viking the first night she'd arrived at Wolfsden. And what if Callen's mother had lived a secret life? Did he even know she was once engaged to Jarle? He never mentioned it. And she certainly wasn't going to bring it up.

"The locket has a ruby clasp," Callen said. "And has my mother's name—Aine—inscribed on the inside."

Oh, crap. Everything Jarle had mentioned, was turning out to be true. But still, maybe the Viking witch hadn't revealed all the facts to her. At least that was what she hoped.

Keeping mum, she eyed Callen. His back was to her as he bent over a crate, searching through unsorted artifacts. Pieces of straw fell from his hands as he removed items from the large bin.

Thoughts of her mating with Cal weighed heavy on her mind. And for that she was glad to be working from crates and not at the table. Every time she looked at that piece of furniture she couldn't help but think of what they had done on it—several times.

" _That's not a bad thing_."

"You can do that in human form, too?"

He looked up from the crate. "Yes. But I try not to."

She glanced at the table. Then frowned.

"I'll have it put in storage, if you'd like."

"You might have to because I just can't look at it and not think about doing the nasty. And it's getting in the way of my work, which means it will take forever to catalogue everything from the dig."

He grinned. "We have other tables. I'm sure you'll find one to your liking and we can swap it out. And I promise, from here on out we'll only make love in our bed."

_Our bed_. The words made her go all tingly inside. Two years of being under Jarle's command, belonging to no family, having no friends, had been lonely. Being with Callen, even though they had only met a few days ago, felt right. The wolf in her soul could not be denied. "So much has happened since I first came here. My world has changed drastically."

"Life can take sudden changes for MacHendrie wolves. It's been our way for as far back as we've existed."

"Did all your brothers take mates quickly?"

He gave a pensive stare as if thinking the matter over. "All but Phelan. His mate is a human who does not descend from wolf blood."

"Is that permitted?"

"She is his mate, his destiny. It's just the way it turned out. But it hasn't been easy on them and they're still dealing with the finer points of the situation. I hope they make it or it will be horrible for both of them."

There was a lot she was going to have to learn about the wolves of Wolfsden Keep.

Rhys knocked on the doorjamb.

Callen turned to face his brother. "What's up?"

"Vidar's men have arrived, and I don't know where to put them."

Callen rubbed his chin as if thinking over the situation. "I'll go find the Viking. We can house his troops in the old barracks. They'll probably prefer it out there anyway as I'm sure they will want to explore the grounds and stake out the place." He turned back to Miranda. "Do you mind if I leave for a bit? I hate to have you go through this stuff on your own, but Vidar's men are not the sort to leave unattended. They can get into a lot of trouble if left without any guidance."

She gave up a slight laugh and waved her hand. "Go. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Callen grabbed his cane from the back of a nearby chair and then motioned for Rhys to follow him into the entrance hall.

Miranda returned to searching through the box of silver jewelry and looking for Aine's locket.

A cold breath blew at her ear. She cupped her lobe.

Wisps of gray energy swirled around her body, starting at her feet and traveling up to her shoulders. A single tether of the gossamer mist licked her cheek.

"I come in the name of Jarle," the mist whispered. "Our master wants his locket, or the wolf will die."

"You have no right being here." She scolded in a low voice. "This is protected territory. How did you even get in?"

The mist circled her. "I came with the Viking warriors. They have many witches among them and their energy was permitted, which cleared the way for me since I piggy-backed it."

"You're not welcome at Wolfsden."

"Jarle wants his locket, the MacHendrie's blade, and the crate of Viking artifacts you promised him."

Her heartbeat picked up speed. If that witch ever knew she'd lied.... "Tell him he'll get the damn things when I find them. Now leave."

"Don't betray our master, Miranda. Or the wolf will die."

The gray mist dissipated.

Miranda took a deep breath and prayed to God Vidar's men were successful at stopping Jarle. The thought of that bastard destroying the MacHendrie stronghold sickened her. She had to do something. She had to keep Callen and his family safe.

A plastic bag slipped from a stack on top of a half-open crate in the corner. The slight noise jarred her thoughts.

She brought her hands to her chest and tried to calm her nerves.

Her heartrate slowed.

A red glint caught her attention.

Miranda walked over to the bag and plucked it from the floor. It hadn't been labeled. No name, no number, no description.

She undid the slide and reached her fingers inside.

Cool silver caressed her skin as her hand touched a ruby cabochon topping the item's side clasp.

_Aine's locket_.

Lifting the item out of the clear pouch, Miranda scrutinized it. She turned it on its side and popped it open. A piece of red velvet lined the interior cavity, but the space contained no vibrant pulse or spell binding herbs. Not that she had expected something this old to have its original content intact, but she didn't sense that it had ever been used in the same manner as had her own locket or any that she'd been forced to bind with herbs or spells.

Her fingers glided over the soft fabric lining. The piece snagged her nail and lifted.

Miranda peeled it back.

Decorative scroll work adorned the smooth interior surface. Looking closer, she detected two names etched in a fancy script—Aine and Jarle.

The witch had been telling the truth, at least about the two names having been inscribed inside the locket. Yet she still didn't believe the bastard. Maybe there was more to the story than what Jarle had told her.

She turned toward the window and watched as Callen appeared to be explaining something about the property to Vidar's men. He looked regal out there, pointing to different parts of the estate, exuding command over his territory. He would one day make a fine alpha. Of that she had no doubt. But he was also a stubborn wolf and she'd have to work on that if he was going to lead a pack who would remain loyal to him.

Miranda frowned as she noticed Callen leaning on his cane. If only the man had let her use one of her salves on him before this whole Jarle mess was taken care of, he could have already been free of his leg pain. But he insisted she wait to heal his wound until after he'd freed her from her witch master. Not being able to help him made her feel useless. She was his mate and she was supposed to do everything she could to stand by him, make him the great leader she knew he could be. She loved him to bits.

_Stubborn man_.

Miranda turned away from the window.

As she headed back to the crates of artifacts, her hand warmed. Glancing at her palm, she noticed the locket had started to glow. Miranda slipped the silver item into her left jeans pocket, not wanting it to come anywhere near Jarle's hair beads in her right pocket and went back to searching through the items from the dig.

Her thoughts drifted to Callen. She hated having to tell him since he had so much on his plate at the moment and learning his mother might not have been the woman he thought her to be, could prove devastating. But keeping the locket's discovery a secret, would be no different than lying to him.

A knot twisted in her stomach. She wished that damn plastic bag had never fallen out of the crate. Then she wouldn't have to make this decision. But Callen came first. No way could she burden him with another possible problem.

She prayed she was doing the right thing, but guilt still settled in her soul. Despite not wanting to do it this way, for now, the locket's discovery had to remain her little secret.

Callen stood on the side lawn of Wolfsden Keep and marveled at the proficiency of Vidar's men. These were not the same troops he remembered from childhood. His acquaintances had grown up since he'd last worked with them directly and he was glad of it.

"I had no idea this horde of Vikings could be as good as our pack," Rhys said.

Callen looked out across the field of grass. "They are an incredible force."

"Who will protect your land at all cost." Vidar came to stand at his side. "Jarle will not harm your woman."

"The witch has great forces," Callen said. "If he does attempt to breech our barricades, I fear for your clan."

"Please. They are men. Immortal Viking wolves, witches, and vampires. They live for war and for dying. If any of them passes from this life with a battleax in his hand, then he has fulfilled his destiny."

That might be true, but he still didn't wish them to die under his watch. All lives were precious to him.

A warrior came running up the hill. "A wolf has been injured, Vidar. A pup."

His nephews were all in New Orleans. "It can't be one of mine."

"Do you have any strays in the area?" Vidar's blue eyes turned cold.

"I've only come across one, once."

The Viking huffed. "This is not good, friend. I fear we have trouble among us, the pup might be a ploy."

Callen glanced back at the castle. "If Jarle means to engage us in battle, I should be with Miranda to keep her safe."

"I'll go to Miss Kendrick," Rhys said.

"Send her upstairs and tell her to arm herself."

Rhys nodded, then vanished.

"I don't like leaving my mate to another man's care."

"Your brother can be trusted." Vidar's gaze lingered on the lawn.

"I'm not questioning Rhys's loyalty. Miranda is mine and I don't feel right being away from her with Jarle's men in the vicinity. I'm going back to the castle."

A whirling sound echoed through the air. An arrow sped past Callen's head.

Vidar pushed him to the ground. "There is no time to go back. We must fight. You must leave your woman to Rhys's care." He pulled a dagger from the inside of his boot and handed it to Callen. "I'm joining my men. Do what you must but remember if we can't stop Jarle before he steps foot on your land, then we will not be able to stop him at all."

He agreed with the Viking. Miranda was safer in the castle, with Rhys to guard her, while he fought out here to keep the enemy from coming near his home.

Callen took a deep breath and pushed himself up. Blades of fell from his face as he stood.

A fiery pulse throbbed his leg.

_Bloody hell_. Fine time for another periodic flair-up to return. It had been only days since the episode in New Orleans attacked his leg and they didn't usually come this close together.

Another arrow flew through the air.

He glanced ahead.

Vidar was halfway down the hill already and he hadn't even taken a single step.

The ache grew worse.

Damn his leg. No amount of agony was going to stop him from defending Wolfsden. Or his mate.

With a limp, he charged forward, screaming orders at Vidar's men.

# 11

The sound of Callen's booming voice echoed into the castle, the keep's leaded windows doing little to muffle the outside noise.

Miranda's heart pounded. Goosebumps popped up on her flesh as her ears filled with a high-pitched screech.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

She dropped the artifacts in her hands and raced back to the room's stone-cased windows, stepping up to the one in the middle.

"What the hell is he doing?" She eyed Callen limping down the hill, his leg seeming to bother him more now than it had moments ago.

Rhys appeared at her left, his hand gripped to the window sill. "I believe my brother is going to fight alongside the Vikings."

"The man is insane."

"Jarle's army must be approaching. I'll get my silver bullets."

She turned and watched Rhys flash from the room, only to come back a second later, bullets strapped to his chest, gun in hand.

"I had no idea a wolf could move so fast," she said.

"We can do a lot of things, when necessary."

"This is all my fault."

Rhys tsked. "You cannot blame yourself. Jarle would have come here eventually, he's had it out for Callen since they first battled at Mortimer's castle, about a thousand years ago. At least, that is the story I've been told. I wasn't around back then."

"But Jarle's here now, after he sent me to intrude in Callen's life." She wondered why the witch had picked her. The pitch he'd used about her being familiar with Celtic artifacts was starting to sound more and more like a ruse. He needed her at Wolfsden, specifically her. And she wanted to know why.

"You should go upstairs, Dr. Kendrick. Lock the door. Under the bed in your room you'll find a magickally charged sword. Use it to defend yourself against Jarle, if he makes it this far. I'll guard the castle from down here. And pray you have no need of the weapon upstairs."

She wasn't going to leave Rhys alone. "I'm staying put."

"Callen will have my head if any harm comes to you. Please. Go. Upstairs."

The man did not look the least bit pleased at her. The red of his cheeks matched the crimson color of his collard polo shirt. "Okay, fine. But if I hear you firing that gun, I'm coming back down and fighting at your side."

"Fair enough."

Miranda left the fully armed man in the storage room and headed for the main staircase. Halfway up, she stopped. She had the locket Jarle wanted and she had her own life. Maybe Jarle would settle his anger with Callen if she gave him Aine's jewelry, and if she agreed to serve him for eternity. At least it was worth a try. And she knew the moment Jarle saw her, he'd think she had what he wanted and that could halt the fighting temporarily.

She turned around and took the stairs two at a time. With a glance at the storage room, she saw Rhys still glued to the window. This was her chance to leave.

Making a beeline for the front door, Miranda was out of the castle in an instant. She scooted around back. And froze.

Jarle stood against the building's stone façade, his arms folded. "It's about time, slave. I thought you'd never come out of that damn hellhole."

Wolfsden was not a hellhole. It was a magnificent home worthy of a great family like the MacHendries. Of course she didn't expect Jarle to understand about what makes a home and what makes a family. The man was cold, sinister and rotten to the core. "How did you make it past Vidar's men?"

The bastard reached for her neck, ran his gnarly fingers over her flesh. "You took off your locket."

"I should have ditched the thing months ago."

Jarle's thin lips turned upward. "But had you done so then, the power I have over you wouldn't have extended to Wolfsden as it has now. My hexes have a long reach, slave. All I needed was for you to remove that damn trinket, leave it somewhere in the keep, and I was free to set foot on MacHendrie land."

Miranda's body went cold. She shivered, every last essence of heat draining from her bones.

"That's right, slave. I am now free to roam this land as I wish. And Callen MacHendrie cannot stop me. He is powerless over me at the moment and it is all thanks to you extending my hex. That curse now encompasses the castle and its grounds."

"You used me."

Jarle's gray eyes grew black. "I use all of my slaves."

She inched back. "Why did you choose me?"

The witch huffed, his breath deep and warm. A hint of dark magick danced on the air as wisps of energy flowed from Jarle's gray wool tunic. "You are a rare breed of healer, Miranda. You may be wolf, but your talents go beyond healing those mangy shifters. You are the sole person who can reverse my hexes."

She had no frickin' clue. "I can heal Callen."

"At one time, yes. But not now."

"Why? What's changed?" Anger soared through her soul.

"You won't make it to him in time. My men will destroy Vidar's horde of warriors, and Callen will fall with them."

Her mate was not going to die. "Take me instead."

"I sent you here to get the man's sword and you want me to leave it be and take your life instead? The life I already own? That's a shitty bargain, Miranda. Even a lowly wolf-witch like yourself should agree on that point."

"I have Aine's locket." She reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved the silver article.

"Where is the crate of the Viking artifacts you promised?"

She bit her bottom lip but remained silent.

"Do you know what I think, Miranda?"

Her gaze lingered on Jarle's flat, thin lips.

"I believe you lied to me," the Viking said, plucking a dagger from the worn leather belt tied around his waist.

"You should know. You're a master of deception. You've been lying to me since day one."

Jarle glared at her, brought the sharp side of his dagger's blade to her neck. He pushed the weapon into her flesh.

A shiver enveloped Miranda's entire body, but she didn't give in. Jarle could threaten her all he wanted, but she was going to save Callen. "I may not have those other Viking artifacts, but I can still give you what you want. Take me, for all eternity. And take Aine's locket. In exchange, free Callen, leave Vidar's men alone, and leave Wolfsden intact."

Jarle pulled the dagger back, returned it to his belt, and then rubbed his time-worn face. Brought one of his bony fingers to his chin and tapped. "All eternity? Is that what you are agreeing to?"

"Yes."

"And you'll turn over Aine's locket?"

She wasn't sure that was the best thing to do, but if it did truly belong to Callen's mother, the woman's soul would surely want to protect her son's life. She prayed she was doing the right thing. "I will."

"Then mote it be."

In a flash the world spun like a tornado, Miranda's vision going blurry. When the hazy scene dissipated, she was back at Jarle's workroom in Inverness.

Jarle's warriors faded from Callen's sight. He stared at the empty green lawn in front of him and wondered where the hell the vile creatures had disappeared to.

"They are gone," Vidar said, a perplexed look veiling his face. He rubbed his left temple.

"This canna be good." Callen paused. He searched the landscape for as far as he could see, and not even one of Jarle's men remained. "It must be a trick."

A tall, brown-haired warrior from Vidar's clan approached. "The witch has retreated to Inverness."

"Are you certain?" Callen didn't trust Jarle to just pick up and leave without finishing the fight. The vile beast only did things that suited him, his cause, and his wealth.

"It has been confirmed by our sources in the city," the warrior said.

Callen turned back toward the keep. "I don't trust the witch."

"Nor do I," Vidar said. "I will go to Inverness myself but leave my men here for added protection until we know what the bastard is up to."

He appreciated the Viking's willingness to keep tabs on Jarle. "I'm going to check on Miranda."

Heading up the hill, Callen limped back to the castle. The pain in his leg escalated to the point of sheer agony by the time he made it to Wolfsden's front door.

Inside the castle he found Rhys bolting down the stairs. "She's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"Miranda is not in the castle."

"But I instructed you to keep her safe."

Rhys lowered his gaze. "I did as you said. I sent her upstairs, told her about the sword under the bed. But the guestroom is now empty."

"Is the sword still in its place?"

"It is. She didn't use it."

"Damn it, man. Miranda never went upstairs."

"I know she left the storage room. But I do admit, I was focusing on defending the castle, watching out the window to guard for approaching troops."

His money was on Jarle, as that bastard never liked losing a slave. "I'm going to Inverness. Vidar's men believe the witch is there. I believe Miranda is with him."

"She would never betray you. I'm sure of it."

He was too, which meant Miranda had probably gone and done something very stupid, like convincing Jarle to leave Wolfsden Keep in one piece. "I'm going to find her. And bring her back."

"But the witch will kill you if he's given the chance. You're in no condition to fight him, not with the hex still imbedded in your leg."

"I'll take my chances." He was not going to let Miranda die. She was his mate. And he would give his life to spare hers.

# 12

Miranda stood in the center of Jarle's Inverness office and waited for the witch to make his appearance and reprimand her. He might have agreed to her terms to leave Callen alone, but she knew he wasn't going to let her get away with betraying him.

She paced in front of the room's large, metal door. Waiting for the bastard was worse than having to deal with whatever punishment he was certain to hand out.

A click echoed through the air.

Miranda jumped.

Jarle entered the office and lifted his hand. A glowing locket attached to a heavy silver chain, dangled from his fingers. "I've reworked the spell that binds you to me, Dr. Kendrick. And it's set in a new locket, one that you will not be able to remove." He swung the ornate piece of jewelry in front of Miranda's face. "It will bind you to me for life. This one and the next."

She swallowed. Living with Jarle for all eternity was going to be the pits, but at least Callen would be spared. "I want you to remove the hex from MacHendrie's leg."

"I'm allowing him to live. That is more than generous on my part."

Miranda didn't see it that way. "My life for Callen's. Aine's locket for the sword. That is what we agreed on, which means the hex should be lifted because the weapon it is encased in will no longer be bound to you."

A dark gaze filled Jarle's eyes. He sat down at his desk and tapped his fingers against the blotter. "I will agree only if our arrangement includes you using your healing powers to do whatever I ask."

She thought that would be automatically included in the bargain. Apparently, not. Maybe she was more powerful than she had previously thought. But at this stage, her magickal abilities no longer counted for anything. Jarle was going to use her to do evil. With any luck, her powers would eventually fade. "Fine."

"Let's start with the locket." The Viking witch wiggled his fingers, commanded her to display the silver piece of jewelry.

Miranda obeyed. She plucked the item from her jeans pocket and dangled it from her hand. "Before I turn this over, I want you to verbally free MacHendrie."

Jarle leaned back in his chair and growled. He then nodded. "I, Jarle, Norse witch and warrior, release the MacHendrie from my control."

The office door slammed opened. "Not so fast, Viking." Callen stood at the threshold, his sword raised high. "Get out of the room, Miranda."

"She stays put," Jarle said, rising from his chair. "The woman is mine."

"Like my mother?"

"That half-wolf never knew her place."

"She knew enough not to marry you."

"Only because your uncle introduced her to that mangy dog he'd befriended."

His father was no dog. Callen stepped into the room, his fingers gripped around his sword's hilt. His knuckles went white. "Your war with my uncle Mortimer should never have been, as your ally fought my uncle under false pretenses."

"Your uncle killed my wife."

"That's not true. If you lost members of your family during the battle between Mortimer and his enemy Rorik, you have only yourself to blame. You should have never brought your family to the battleground."

The witch did not appear pleased.

A sword materialized in Jarle's hand. "I have agreed to free you, Highlander. Now go and leave Dr. Kendrick to me."

"Never."

He eyed Miranda. "Step away from the desk."

She remained in place. "I've already made the agreement, Callen. This is your chance to be free of pain. You deserve to live life without being in agony every moment."

"I said, step away from the desk."

"No."

"Now is not the time to be stubborn, Miranda."

"I'm not going to let you give up your one chance at freedom from pain. I'm staying with Jarle."

Callen glared at the Viking witch. "Take my sword and take me. In exchange, my mother's locket is returned to Wolfsden, and Miranda is freed."

The witch smirked. "An eye for an eye. I think that is fair."

Cal motioned for Miranda to come to him.

Tears clouded her eyes. "I won't let you do this."

"You must go. Now."

He used his magickal powers to move Miranda's feet forward.

She reached into her pocket and then slipped something to Callen at the door.

" _Are these beads from Jarle's hair?_ "

" _Yes. I took them before I left for Dundaire. Use them to deflect or hamper the witch's energy._ "

Vidar appeared in the doorway. "Come, Miranda."

She glanced at Callen. "I don't want to leave you."

"I know. But do this for me, please. I need to know you're safe." Callen reached for her, brushed the slightest of kisses against her lips, and then pushed her from the room and slammed the door shut. His mate would be safe with Vidar. Even if he died here fighting Jarle.

Jarle walked up to Callen and grabbed him by the hair, forced his head back. "I am not content to own you, Highlander. Wolves have only presented problems for me and have done so for more than a thousand years. I say we fight today. Put an end to our war, winner take all. Loser dies."

He had no problem killing the Viking bastard. "Agreed."

"Toss the sword."

"I thought you'd want the fight to be balanced, witch. Or your victory would not be a true one."

Jarle flung his sword across the room. He dropped his hand from Callen's hair and then moved his arm, forcing all the furnishings in the office to vanish.

A second later they were in an open field.

"Drop your weapon, wolf."

He did as was asked.

"Good, dog. Now I will choke the life out of you. I've waited so long for this moment." The witch punched him in the thigh.

Callen fell to his knees.

A new sword materialized in Jarle's hand.

Memories of their first fight came flooding back to Callen. Memories of how he ran down the tunnel under Mortimer's castle. How he shifted to wolf form and charged the Viking witch. He should have shredded the beast back then. The wolf in him would have loved putting an end to Jarle's evil soul.

"Take your last breath, dog," Jarle said.

Nobody called him a dog.

Callen shifted, brought his wolf to the surface of his soul. In animal form, he snarled.

Jarle raised his sword.

Callen rolled away.

The witch went after him. "I bested you once, I will do so again."

"You won't win this time, Viking."

"I have the advantage. I have the only weapon on the field."

But he had teeth. Razor sharp teeth.

Callen leapt forward. As his body completed the shift to wolf, he tossed the silver beads at the Viking witch.

They did no good. All these years he'd searched for them and it was all for nothing.

His paw lit up with a pulsing white aura.

Jarle swung his sword, the weapon coming down with a swooshing noise.

The blade sliced Callen's midsection. Blood gushed from his body as he flew through the air, then landed on the ground.

Pain hammered his every muscle.

Jarle laughed above him. "Now I will finish you off. Kill you like I should have done when we first met."

He was not going to let the bastard get away with this. Concentrating on his wolf soul, Callen garnered every last bit of strength he had left in his wounded body and took one more go at the witch. He bared his teeth.

Jarle inched backward.

Callen reached for the Viking's leg and scratched his flesh.

Wispy tendrils of the glowing aura emitted from Cal's paw and wrapped around Jarle's ankle.

The witch's foot slipped and bent his leg under him, sending him to his knees.

_The beads_. _Thanks be to heaven, they did work_.

Leaping from the ground Callen went for the Viking's neck. He tore into the bastard's flesh, then his bone, and finally snapped his spinal cord.

Jarle fell forward, all life drained from his body.

Pain eased from Callen's leg.

It was finally over. His hex lifted, and Miranda was safe. He thought of the many other slaves Jarle had owned. They were now all free souls, too. The world was already a better place.

A warm breeze blew across the grass.

The field vanished, replaced by the empty office. Callen looked down at his wound. No wolf could survive that much blood loss, but at least he would go to his grave knowing Miranda was free. He had saved his mate, and for that he was grateful.

Metal slamming against wood echoed through the room.

"For the love of Thor, Highlander. What have ye done to yourself?" Vidar ran to his side.

Callen shifted form. "It's over, friend."

"Like hell it is. I will not be known for letting a Highland wolf die on my watch. And I certainly will not let you go to Valhalla while I am left on this earth. You will tell bad tales of me there."

He gave up a laugh, but it hurt like hell. "Take care of Miranda."

"I will not take an American wolf as a ward." He slapped a handful of something moist on Callen's side.

Heat flared against his skin. "What in heaven's name did you put on me?"

"A salve. Compliments of your woman."

The pain subsided. "Bury me at Wolfsden."

"If I bring your corpse back to your father's land, he will kill me. Now get on your feet."

He tried to push himself up, but it was no use. He hadn't the energy. "I canna move."

"Then I guess I will have to carry you. But not without your skirt. Miranda insisted I bring it with me, along with the salve." Vidar produced a kilt and covered him. "Now we can go to Wolfsden."

He was going home to his mate. To his pack. To his destiny.

# Epilogue

He'd spent two weeks in bed and couldn't take another minute of not doing a damn thing.

Rhys entered the bedroom, carrying a large box. "I've got it. Just as you ordered."

"Good. Now if you don't mind, please put it on the table in the reading nook." He pointed to the alcove near in the corner.

"Will there be anything else?"

"Just one thing. Go and enjoy the rest of the day, even if that means roaming the grounds in wolf form. Once Dad arrives, things will get hectic."

"Are you sure about that?" Rhys removed his formal jacket before undoing its matching bowtie.

"Aye. There are no strangers here at the moment, so I don't see why you can't enjoy being wolf for a bit." He waved his brother away.

"Until later, bro."

Rhys ran into the hall just as Vidar made his presence in the doorway. "Feeling better Highlander?"

"I've been better for two weeks."

"Then why are you still in bed laying around like a baby?" The Viking strutted over to one of the light blue chairs at the foot of the bed and plopped his hulky form into the oversized seat. "No good warrior stays down when he is capable of walking this good earth."

"Tell that to Miranda. To Dr. Kendrick."

Vidar chuckled. "You are so screwed dude."

"Verra funny. Now I know the two of you are in cahoots. What else has she been teaching you other than English slang?"

"Your mate is a good soul. She means well, that's all."

"There's a box on the table in the corner." He nudged his chin toward the alcove. "It's a gift for you. For saving my life."

Vidar rose, but raised his eyebrow. "I am not used to gifts, Highlander." He approached the table in a cautious manner. "If Katya had told me years ago, that I would make friends with a skirt wearer, I would have challenged my sister to a friendly, but good fight." He lifted the lid off the box. "My very own skirt." He spun around, placed his hand over his heart. "I am touched, Callen. Truly."

"I'm glad. But please, it's a kilt. K. I. L. T. If you're going to wear it, at least call it buy its proper name."

"It matches yours."

"Yes. I had it made from MacHendrie tartan. I figured after you saved my life...and protected Miranda...I had better accept the fact that you are indeed part of this family. You may be a Viking, but you are also welcome in my pack."

The hulky warrior scooped up the box and stomped over to the bed. "You are a good man, Callen. I am honored to be a part of your pack. But no telling Mortimer. That vampire has been lecturing me to soften my heart for too long and I'm not ready to tell him he was right about that."

"Trust me, I won't tell my uncle anything. But you really should make friends with him. He is your brother-in-law, for Pete's sake."

"Maybe for Katya, I will ease up on the man. Speaking of which, I actually came to say goodbye."

"You're leaving Wolfsden?"

"I must. I've inherited all of my uncle Rorik's estate, including his properties in New Orleans. That is why I was in Copenhagen, to settle the legal side of things. It is also why I was able to get the information on Jarle and Dr. Kendrick. I inherited all of Rorik's records, as well as his good-for-nothing troops. At least they proved useful in helping me learn about Jarle. I might need to keep a few of them around. Now I'm off to Louisiana to see what I own and what I want to do with it all."

"Rorik the Rotten also held vast properties here in Europe," Callen said. "He had an immense portfolio."

"Aye and they're all mine now, but I want Katya to have what she wants, as well. My uncle was a bloody bastard toward my sister, she deserves to be paid for what he did to her."

He didn't like the idea of Vidar leaving. They should have become friends long ago. "Well, I don't believe in keeping a man from his destiny. But remember, if I can do anything for you, I'm here. And I expect to see you at Christmas."

Vidar nodded, then patted him on the shoulder and headed for the door, boxed kilt in hand. "Stay safe, Highlander."

Staying safe wasn't going to be a problem with Dr. Kendrick dictating his every move. The woman was stifling him. Tossing off the sheets he rose from the bed and stretched. God, but it felt good to walk around.

An undone curtain hook caught his attention near the end of the velvet drapes framing the bed. He reached up and placed it back on the wood rod.

"What are you doing?" Miranda called from behind him.

"Fixing the curtain."

"I can see that. Now get back into bed."

He huffed. "You do realize I will one day be alpha of my father's pack. Right?"

"And your point?" She pulled the covers up to his waist, then straightened his t-shirt.

"Alphas do not take orders from...anyone."

"I'm not anyone."

Vidar was right. He was very screwed.

Miranda reached for the pillow behind his head and pulled it out from under his neck.

"Hey, I was comfortable with that one."

She fluffed it and then put it back. "Your father will be here in a few hours and I don't want him to think I can't keep his castle clean and looking nice."

"My father is not concerned with appearances, trust me." He wasn't looking forward to telling his alpha what went down with Jarle. "He is, however, going to be pissed that I let that Viking witch on his land."

"You can blame me. After all, it was my locket that allowed Jarle access to Wolfsden."

"Speaking of lockets, where did you find my mother's?"

"I didn't find it, actually. She sent it to me."

Callen tilted his head. No way was his beautiful Miranda going to get away with not telling him the whole story. "Elaborate."

"It just fell from one of the crates. I believe your mother wanted me to find it when it appeared. That's why I took it and used it to barter with Jarle. I thought it was what she would have wanted. To save you." She wrapped a strand of her long, coppery hair around her forefinger. "Was your mother really once engaged to that vile Viking?"

"I fear so. But thank God my uncle Mortimer had the good sense to introduce her to my father."

"Good thing indeed. Or you wouldn't be here." She joined him on the bed.

He pulled her down next to him and nipped at her ear.

"I don't think you've healed enough for sex yet," she said.

"It's been two weeks. I don't even have a scar anymore." He reached for Miranda's t-shirt and had it off her in seconds, her jeans followed, as did his own t-shirt and shorts. "I know my body and it's feeling fine."

"That salve was never tested before I used it on you. I won't take any chances with it not having healed you completely."

He flipped her onto her back and settled between her thighs. "Trust me. If we don't do this now, we won't get the chance to do it in peace for a while. The pack travels with my father and they lodge at Wolfsden. Privacy will be non-existent once they get here. Which means this place is going to become something akin to a fraternity house in a few hours."

"I can't believe it will be that bad. You're exaggerating."

His poor Miranda hadn't a clue what was to come. But for now, he could make her feel pretty damn good. Callen leaned forward and ran his tongue along Miranda's neck.

His hands cupped her right breast. The feel of her rosy, pink nipple growing hard under his palm, made his cock stiff.

Callen pulled back and eyed his lovely mate.

Miranda's red hair spilled over the pillows. He was never going to get enough of staring at his beautiful little thief. "I love seeing you in our bed."

"I love being here."

He caressed her nipple once more with his palm before bringing her breast closer to his lips. Dipping his head, he took one swollen bud into his mouth and sucked. Hard.

She moaned. "Whatever you do, don't stop that."

He nipped at her nipple.

"Oh...Callen..."

With his free hand, he trailed his fingers down her side, over her inner thigh and up to her clit. The musky scent of her arousal forced a growl from his throat.

Nothing felt as good as the weight of Callen's body on top of hers. Gliding her hands down her mate's back, Miranda settled her fingers on Cal's firm backside and pulled him closer.

He obliged by sliding his cock into her slit.

The thick girth of him stretched her, filled her to the core. She couldn't imagine life without Callen MacHendrie at her side. She loved her wolf.

He continued working her nipple.

" _Marry me, Miranda_."

"If you think you're going to get away with not going down on one knee, you are sorely mistaken."

" _But I'm asking in a velvet-draped, four-poster medieval bed_."

"I should have never told you about my bed fantasy."

He pulled his mouth from her taut peak, stretching the swollen bud before releasing it. "I promise to get down on one knee as soon as I can. But in the meantime, are you really going to keep me waiting for your answer?"

"I want a huge wedding."

"Say yes to marrying me and you can have anything your heart desires."

"I thought you hated weddings?"

He gave her a huge grin. "Not anymore. In fact, I'm looking forward to our first dance."

"I didn't know you danced."

"I don't. But I want to with you."

She bucked her hips against his.

"Don't do that."

"Don't talk, Alpha."

He groaned.

She gyrated a second time, loved the feel of him inside her.

Callen got the message and thrust forward. He drove himself deep, filled her to the point where she didn't think she could take more.

As he pulled out and then repeated the thrust, a glorious spasm rocked Miranda's body.

A slight howl escaped her lips.

_Her wolf_.

Callen had not only saved her life; he'd saved her soul.

Being mated was a wondrous thing. " _I'm yours, Callen. Me and my wolf. For all eternity._ "

" _Is that a yes?_ "

" _Absolutely._ "

* * *

If you enjoyed DARK WOLF, click here to purchase CHRISTMAS WOLF.

# Author's Note

**Thank you for purchasing DARK WOLF. I truly loved writing about Wolfsden Keep and the MacHendrie wolves. Up next is CHRISTMAS WOLF, Rhys MacGregor's story.**

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**Shifters of Dundaire Series:**

DARK WOLF

CHRISTMAS WOLF

VIKING WOLF

HIGHLAND WOLF

RETURN OF THE WOLF

BLOOD WOLF (The Prequel)

# CHRISTMAS WOLF

**_Welcome to Dundaire, Scotland, a magickal city that doesn't appear on any map, where kilt-wearing, immortal Highlanders are plentiful, and where romance and danger brew daily..._**

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When Highland wolf Rhys MacGregor goes in search of the perfect tree-topper for Wolfsden Keep's eighteen-foot-tall tree for the pack's Christmas Eve ball, he ends up rescuing a cat who turns out to be more than he ever imagined.

* * *

While out in a blizzard keeping an eye on Rhys MacGregor, feline shapeshifter and banshee Greer O'Keene is rescued by the hot Scot. But as the woman assigned to take Rhys's soul, the last thing she expects is to fall in love with him. Now she's determined to keep her wicked banshee stepsisters away from Rhys long enough so she can change his fate.

* * *

Can destined love outsmart dark magick?

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Click here to purchase CHRISTMAS WOLF.

# About the Author & Newsletter

National best-selling author Angelique Armae / J. C. Makk is a native New Yorker who loves all things royal, can trace her Irish roots back to the Scottish Highlands, is half Italian, and is owned by a long-haired Tuxedo feline. As a child her favorite toy was Emerald the Witch, a small doll with green eyes, green hair and purple skin. She spends most days writing, unless her cat deems otherwise.

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Miss Armae's books and novellas have garnered numerous awards and nominations, including the Sapphire Award, P.E.A.R.L. Award and Word Weaving Award. Her books have also been featured on Midwest Book Review's Book Watch TV. Angelique's first novel, COME THE NIGHT, made Fictionwise's Best of the Best list, rounding out the top five bestselling dark fantasy books of the year. Since the release of COME THE NIGHT, Angelique's books have made Amazon's Overall Kindle Bestsellers List (top 30), Amazon's Hot New Release List (#1) Barnes and Noble's NOOK list (top 10), iBooks Bestsellers List (top 50), Kobo's Romance Bestsellers List (top 10), Kobo's Anthology Bestsellers List (#1), Kobo's Short Stories Bestsellers List (#1), Kobo's Paranormal Romance Bestsellers List (#4), as well as various other bestsellers lists. Angelique is also an Amazon Top 100 Paranormal Romance Author.

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Aside from writing, Angelique also dabbles in digital art. She is the recipient and two-time nominee of the Dream Realm Award for best cover art.

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When not working, Miss Armae enjoys traveling, learning about the ancient Celts, exploring history, and learning new languages. After studying design in London, England, Angelique returned to the States and studied history and French literature at Skidmore College.

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Website: <http://www.angeliquearmae.com>

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