by Red Phoenix
“Ye lie,” Tavis accused from behind her. “Robertson would ne’er do such a thing.”
Freya started edging towards the door slowly. They would have to physically accost her, and risk outing themselves to Fletcher if they wanted to keep her there any longer. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Mr. Robertson. Look, since it seems like I’ve disturbed your merrymaking, I’ll just be on my way.”
She was almost to the door when Fletcher called out. “Nae, don’t leave yet, little lassie.” She stopped, suddenly afraid he was one of them. Freya breathed a sigh of relief when he added, “Ye and Elsa are the only things that brighten up this ol’ place. Stay and finish yer brew.”
Unfortunately, Bryn took advantage of her hesitation by the door, coming up behind her and putting his hand on her shoulder. “Aye, lass.” He steered her back to the bar and pulled out a stool for her. “Stay.”
Freya sat down reluctantly as the group of men surrounded her again. They each grabbed their pints from the bar and toasted her with leering smiles. When she lifted hers to take a sip, Kade tilted her glass higher, forcing her to gulp the thick brew.
The heavy lager had her feeling warm and relaxed—too relaxed.
She put it down and pushed the pint away, determined not to drink anymore. She couldn’t risk missing her opportunity to escape.
Bryn disappeared into the back, coming out a few minutes later with a plate of what looked like poorly-shaped meatballs. She stared at them wondering if he planned to poison her, but Fletcher grabbed one and chomped down on it with satisfaction before she could stop him.
Freya watched in horror, expecting at any second to see the innocent man clutch his throat and fall to the ground in agony.
Instead, he just winked at her.
Bryn took a knife and cut one in two. When she saw the egg in the middle, she realized they were simply Scotch Eggs, something her mother used to make on special occasions when she was a tiny bairn. He picked up one half and stuffed it in his mouth, then pushed the plate closer to her. “Try it. My lager goes down better on a full stomach.”
Freya hesitantly took the other half and nibbled on the crunchy edges.
“Eat it like a true Scot!” Fletcher encouraged, grinning at her.
She popped the rest in her mouth and couldn’t help smiling as the familiar flavors of egg and spicy sausage played across her tongue. Images of her parents suddenly filled her mind and a sense of deep sadness threatened to overwhelm her.
They’re gone…and soon I will be, too.
Tears fell onto the wooden bar top against her will. She swiped them away, hoping no one had noticed.
“I think ye should leave now,” Kade growled under his breath.
Freya heeded his warning and got up, ready to bolt. The threat in his tone let her know this was going to be a chase. Her only hope was to outdistance them in her car.
In a warm voice that pulled at her soul, Bryn commanded, “Stay.”
She obediently sat back down.
He looked at the group of men accusingly. “This is my pub. How do ye expect me to survive if ye chase off ma customers?”
“And a sweet one at that,” Fletcher added, sneaking another egg from her plate.
Tavin snarled. “Nae, she stinks up the place.”
Freya felt a rush of heat on her cheeks, knowing the pack of men could smell death on her. But Fletcher leaned over and breathed in her scent.
“Yer wrong, she smells of Scottish countryside.”
“Ye don’t know what yer talking about, Fletch,” Tavin snarled, moving to the other side of the bar. The others followed, but each one of them kept their eyes glued on her.
“What’s up with ye today?” Elsa complained. “It’s not like the lot of ye ’ave never seen an American before.”
Freya glanced at them with a sense of dread, knowing they would rip her to shreds if given half the chance.
Elsa picked up on her unease, and asked pleasantly. “What do ye think of Bryn’s lager, Miss McKenna?”
Freya glanced at Bryn, and saw he was staring at her with a wolfish grin on his face. She looked away, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks.
Elsa seemed amused. “What was that, Miss McKenna? I dinnae quite ’ear ye.”
“I’d say it’s very rich.”
“And satisfying?” Bryn asked, still grinning at her.
She rolled her eyes, and turned her attention back on Elsa. “I’ve always dreamed of drinking a traditional lager in a small Scottish pub such as this.”
Fletcher laughed, tapping his glass against hers. “Lassie, I must make ye quiver in excitement knowing I live out yer dream every day.”
“Stop flirting, old man,” Kade barked. “She’s not worth yer time.”
Fletcher raised his eyebrow, grinning charmingly. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I’m tellin’ ye, Fletch. She’s the kind that’s here today and flown the next.”
The older gentleman ignored Kade’s warning and continued to make small talk with her, asking Freya about American football. “I’ve never understood yer sport,” he chortled. “How can it be football when ye pass it with yer hands and hold it when ye run?”
Freya shrugged, laughing with him. “I’ve never thought of it that way. Whatever the case, I enjoy a good Sunday game, eating hot wings with my friends and shouting out the next play at the T.V.”
The group of men didn’t join in the conversation but they listened to every word she said, making her tense and extremely nervous. When Fletcher finally announced he had to head off, Freya immediately responded, “Great! I’ll walk out with you.”
She toyed with telling him everything as they headed out the door, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. She couldn’t forgive herself if Bryn was speaking the truth and something happened to the old man because of her. Instead, Freya gave his withered cheek a peck. “Thanks for the conversation.”
“Nae, thank ye, lassie,” he said with an embarrassed grin, rubbing his cheek appreciatively.
She jumped into her car, marveling at the fact she’d made it out safely. She hit the gas, squealing her tires as she sped away from the pub, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.
Her heart dropped a few minutes later when she looked in her rearview mirror and saw a motorcycle racing towards her. She hit the pedal clear to the floor, but her cheap rental had no guts, and the lone rider was beside her in no time.
Thankfully, it was only Bryn. He signaled for Freya to pull over and stop.
Freya debated for a few seconds, before slowing down. She figured she could never outrun him, and there was no help to be found on these empty country roads.
He pulled up behind her and motioned for her to unroll her window. “Ye left yer purse.”
She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten it and searched the car, certain it was still there. A sick feeling washed over her when she realized it wasn’t with her. She looked up to see him holding her small black bag with a knowing grin.
Freya suspected he must have rummaged through it, along with the other men at the pub, and now knew everything about her. Not just her name, but where she had worked, her US address, everything—including the place she was staying since it was printed in bold, red letters on the house key.
She took it from him, saying begrudgingly, “Thanks.”
“No need to fear, lass. Yer safe. I’ll not let them hurt ye.”
When tears of relief threatened, she quickly reined them in and snapped, “The last thing I wanted was to come across your lot again.”
“Aye, I believe ye, lass. It seems ye’ve had a string of misfortune.”
Her heart constricted upon hearing those words. Everything lately had been a deadly string of misfortune…
The dam of emotion she’d been bottling up inside came bursting through all at once. She grabbed a wad of tissues from her purse, desperate to stop the flood. Freya was startled when the car door opened and she felt Bryn pulling her from th
e vehicle. Without a word, he gathered her in his arms and lay her head against his chest.
His act of kindness destroyed her defenses, and she began to weep. All of the pain, all of the fear, all of the loneliness crashed over her like a tidal wave. She soaked his shirt with her tears, holding onto him in desperation.
Eventually, when her sobs had quieted, she pulled away feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, brushing at his drenched shirt in vain.
He stilled her hand by gently grabbing her wrist.
Freya looked up at him then, startled by a feeling of pure euphoria. She looked into his amber colored eyes and suddenly felt the world start to spin. “Bryn…” she cried out in surprise and fear, collapsing in his arms before everything went dark.
She woke up to the sound of bleating. Freya opened her eyes and was shocked to find a herd of sheep surrounding her car. She sat up and looked around, feeling slightly dazed and confused. There was no sign of Bryn, or anyone else for that matter. She looked in her passenger seat and saw her purse laying where it should be, with her car keys still in the ignition.
Was she losing her mind?
Freya shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs before turning on the car. The roar of the engine did nothing to move the beasts, so she honked her horn and slowly move forward to get through the sea of sheep. They leisurely drifted out of her way like lazy clouds, in no hurry despite her enthusiastic honking.
When she’d made it through, she glanced in her rearview mirror and swore she saw Bryn leaning against a tree in the far distance. The bleating of a young sheep caught her attention, and she hit the brakes. When she looked back, whoever it was had gone.
The Wolf
Freya found herself back at the castle ruins, the very ones that had caused her such trouble a few nights earlier. She’d been haunted by a sense of grief so deep and intense that it threatened to drown her.
For reasons she could not explain, she’d felt an irresistible urge to return. As she wandered the old castle grounds in the dark, aided by the pale light of the moon, she was distressed to hear the far-off cries of a man in severe pain.
The agony expressed was so raw she could not ignore it. Freya bit down her fear as she followed the heartrending sound to the burnt remnants of the bonfire and the ancient tree. There she found a shirtless man face down on the ground, pounding his fists into the dirt.
She didn’t recognize who it was until she was close enough to recognize his scars. Bryn was oblivious to her presence, so wrapped up in his grief that it gave her the chance to stare at his wounds openly. She noted that the terrible gashes were still red and swollen, which meant they were newly healed. What she found most disturbing was the fact they looked like claw and teeth marks.
What kind of animal roamed these hills that can do that to a man?
She glanced around uneasily, afraid the beast might be out there even now. However, Bryn’s tortured cries pulled at her soul and she instinctively reached out to him.
He looked up at her then and growled, his eyes glowing unnaturally in the dark…
Freya woke up dripping in sweat. She rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. The pain was markedly worse than before, and she had a low-grade fever on top of it. It wouldn’t be long now, her body was losing the fight. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and whimpered, “I don’t want to die.”
She crawled back into the bed, throwing off the covers. Even though the night air was chilly, her body generated its own heat from the battle raging inside her.
The odd dream continued to play in Freya’s mind, and it troubled her. She felt an insane need to drive out to the ruins to see if Bryn was actually there. The desire was so intense, it became maddening.
She laughed out loud, berating herself. “Must be the damn fever talking.”
However, her practical side couldn’t shake off the feeling. The longer she lay there, the more convinced she became that Bryn was there, suffering alone in agony. Eventually the sense of urgency became too much to bear.
She dragged herself out of bed and slowly dressed, lecturing herself about being crazy, even as she took extra time to make a fresh batch of coffee and grab a blanket—just in case.
Before she left the cottage, she’d convinced herself that if he wasn’t there, she would simply lay down under the night sky and enjoy the stars like any normal, sane person would do. Nothing odd about watching stars…
Freya left the keys in the car. After her last experience here, she wanted to ensure she had the means for a quick escape. She picked up the thermos and blanket, but before heading towards the tree, she closed her eyes to listen and feel.
The weight of Bryn’s grief called to her so clearly that it forced Freya into a run. She stumbled over rocks and clumps of grass, almost falling, in her haste to find him. She ignored the jolting pain coursing through her body, as a feeling of desperation took over.
Freya slowed just before she reached the skeletal branches of the white tree. She could not hold back her disappointment when she saw no one was there. A profound sense of loss consumed her as she hesitantly approached the base of the huge tree.
Am I too late?
The thought crushed her, and she dropped the blanket and thermos where she stood. Freya slumped against the trunk, slowly sliding to the ground. Too late…
When she glanced to her left, her heart skipped a beat. The grass was crushed as if someone had recently been sitting there. She gasped as she ran her hand over it, feeling certain now she’d missed him by mere minutes…
Freya nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard him snarl ominously beside her. “What are ye doing here?”
She turned to him, her relief impossible to hide. “I saw you in a vision.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t toy with me, lass.” His growl was low and dangerous.
She cried out in fear when his hand suddenly wrapped around her throat, lifting her up to a standing position. He squeezed tighter as he leaned in and asked, “Why did ye come?”
With tears pricking her eyes, she whispered hoarsely, “Your pain called to me.”
He snarled, loosening his grip around her neck. “Explain.”
She trembled under his firm and unyielding hand. “I felt the need to come, to see if you were okay.” She paused before admitting, “I wanted to… comfort you.”
He howled in anger, releasing his hold on her. “Ye cannae comfort me!” Bryn turned from her to face the castle, and added under his breath, “Nothing can free me from this hell.”
She reached out to him, as she had in her dream, and he growled threateningly as he had before. She quickly snatched her hand back.
Whatever had compelled her to come to this place, Freya understood now it had been a mistake. Bryn did not want or need her help. She started backing away from him, inching slowly in the direction of her car.
“Ye cannae leave.”
She stopped in her tracks, fear gripping her heart. There was no way she could outrun him; she’d already learned that lesson.
“Ye dinnae kin what ye have stumbled into here. Would ye like to be enlightened before ye die?”
She closed her eyes in resignation. “Are you going to kill me, then?”
Bryn spat. “Nae, the cancer in yer body is doing the job well enough.”
She nodded, tears escaping her tightly closed eyes. “Aye…”
There was a hint of sympathy in his voice when he asked her, “Yer frightened of it—the other side?”
His question challenged her. If death was inevitable, then she wanted to go out like a warrior not a child. She wiped her tears away angrily and straightened her back before looking him in the eye and answering, “Yes. I may be afraid, but I’m no coward.”
His smiled was genuine. “Aye, yer strong and crafty of spirit, I’ll give ye that. I fully expected ye would be kilt when ye showed up at the pub unannounced. The pack was sure you’d come to cause trouble.”
/> “But it was purely an accident! I never would have walked in if I had known.”
Bryn shook his head. “I don’t believe in accidents, Freya McKenna. However, the fact ye kept silent with ’ol Fletcher meant we didn’t have to chase ye down and end it.”
He spoke of murdering her as if it were nothing, like it was a common occurrence in his world. She needed to know the truth.
“What is this big secret that you’re willing to kill innocent people for? I demand to know. Are you some terrorist group or something?”
His smile chilled her to the bone. “Trust me when I say it will shock and disgust ye.”
She wasn’t going to be intimidated from finding out the truth. “Bryn, it would take a lot to shock a dying nurse of forty-some years.”
His grin became broader as an unnatural glow seemed to emanate from his eyes. The thrill of pure fear washed over her. Whatever Bryn was, he was definitely not human.
“I want to know,” she insisted.
“Then ye may want to sit, Freya McKenna.”
With her heart pounding, she sat down beneath the skeleton tree with her back against its trunk for moral support.
Bryn’s smile took on an eerie smirk as he undid his pants in front of her. There was nothing sexual about his actions—that leer of his was terrifying. He looked at the silver moon above him and held his hands towards the sky, letting out a blood-curdling howl.
Freya’s jaw dropped as she watched his body begin to transform before her eyes. Bryn’s chest grew broader as his back legs began to shift unnaturally. Long, silvery hair began sprouting over his entire body. But the most frightening change of all was to his face. His mouth and nose elongated into the shape of a canine snout with viciously sharp teeth. Bright yellow eyes bore into her as he fell to the ground on all fours, panting like a dog. Drool dripped from his massive jaws, just inches from her face.
Freya felt just like a terrified rabbit, completely trapped by her own fear.
Bryn moved closer, blowing his hot, moist breath on her cheek. She whimpered, knowing it would only take one snap of those strong jaws to end her. He lowered his head and stared into her soul with those unnatural eyes…