by Claudy Conn
Then, too, there was something in her self-assurance—something that spoke of breeding and exposure to a London Season. Yet he had never heard of the White family name. Then there was her story—it seemed odd and, though he believed it, something in her eyes had hinted of falsehoods.
It annoyed him and hovered about his thoughts like a fretful child. He watched her get up. Instinctively, his eyes meandered slowly over her body, but his eyelids quickly veiled his appreciation of her form. This was one pretty his instincts cautioned him to pass!
“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I am sure you two have matters to discuss, and I would dearly love a quick visit to the stables to look in on my Silkie,” Myriah said, brushing a few crumbs into a napkin and leaving it on the table.
“But it is raining,” his lordship offered with a frown.
“Ha! As though that could stop the she-devil,” teased Billy, waving her off.
With her departure Kit relaxed and chuckled as he watched his brother devour another strawberry tart. “Billy, you and Miss White seem to have progressed into an extremely comfortable relationship,” he said, eying him speculatively.
“Hmmm … she is a top sawyer! Don’t let her bossiness fool you, Kit. She really is grand, you know!”
“And how came you to this profound conclusion about a young lady you hardly know?” his lordship asked drily.
“Kit!” Billy protested. “She saved my life! If Myriah had not found me and brought me home, I could have bled to death on the grass … or worse!”
“Very well, we will allow her that much. She did indeed deliver you into Fletcher’s hands instead of hauling you off to the doctor’s … which would have been the very devil to deal with.”
“Aye, but, Kit,” objected Billy once again, “she did far more than that! Lord—ain’t Fletcher told you? He told me … fastened some sort of thing … ah, a tourniquet that slowed my blood from spilling out altogether. And what’s more, she never asked how I came by my bullet! Not one question. Nor does she talk around it like some females do trying to get you to slip up and give over …”
Kit laughed and put up his hands. “That, of course makes her right ’un!”
“Yes, it does,” Billy said defensively. “She is plucky—for you must know her father has tried to bully her into marrying some chap she didn’t take to. Up she gets and runs away! How many females do you know have the backbone to take such a step?”
“She told you that, eh?” His lordship was mildly surprised and asked, “And that step meets with your approbation, Billy?”
“Now, Kit, come down a leg! Lord, it ain’t like you to get some preachy look over your face. ’Tis humbug you be pitching at me, and I want to know why!”
“Frankly, I don’t wish for you to become involved with a girl of her stamp—” started his lordship.
A gusty laugh drowned out Kit’s words. “Involved? Egad, Kit … Myriah is a dazzler! Lord don’t know when I’ve clapped eyes on a brighter flower. But she no more wants my name than she wants that fellow’s she is running away from!”
“But what do you want, my bucko?” Kit asked.
“I want a fairy queen with china-blue eyes, corn silk hair blowing soft in the breeze … and I want her ten years from now!” Billy grinned.
Kit smiled and stood up. “All right, lad. I’ll plague you no more—for the time being. Get some rest.”
“The devil I will!” retorted his brother. “’Tis your turn now, my brother.”
“My turn, brat?” Kit’s brow went up.
“Aye, what I want to know is why are you back… now?”
Here’s a sneak preview of Claudy Conn’s new steamy paranormal series:
ShadowLife—Hybrid
(unedited)
~ Prelude ~
Present Day,
Grampian Mountains, Scottish Highlands
HE FEELS HIS tongue hanging between his sharp canines, teeth that can crush through a man’s bones, as he races with precision through the trees. The wolf in him has taken the scent from the earth and then lifts his head to the breeze to confirm the distance—a wolf can detect its prey in this manner almost two miles away.
He can feel the cold wind whip at his thick and beautiful black fur, and he loves the sensation it tracks through his body. The last of the winter snow is beginning to melt beneath his huge paws, and he revels in the freedom of the run …
He is at home in these woods; the scent of the sweet-smelling tall pines mingled with the rays of the new morning’s sun has a soothing effect on his frazzled nerves—as does the hunt. He has abstained long enough.
The early scent of spring is in the air and fills his nostrils as he reaches the precipice where he can look over his valley. He shifts into human and lands naked on two feet.
He stands a huge, muscular man, with his long, black, shiny hair blowing freely in the morning breeze. The intricate tattoos on his chest and arms catch the sun’s rays as his muscles flex and he raises his head to catch the scent of the deer off the wind. His cock is at full attention from the excitement of the hunt. There is an old stag he has been tracking …
These woods have belonged to his family for centuries—MacAdams’ Foothills they are called. He and his father, nearly lost to him, are the last of his clan. They are neither man, wolf, or vampire, but all three.
* * *
He had been alone and apart from all, but at peace in his solitary existence. He was alone by his own will, alone because society and the humans no longer held a lure, alone after the murder of his dear mother …
He hadn’t even bothered going into the village for more than a few errands: mail, supplies … now and then a piece of ass. And today that particular craving made him feel heady. He needed a woman, and the need was pushing him in that direction, if only for a night, perhaps this night? There was Anna—a willing and alluring playmate, ever ready and willing and nearly (though not quite) able to satisfy his unrelenting lust.
He was a hybrid, able to change at will because he was born that way centuries ago. Going wolf always cleared his head and heart, but feeding—that was quite another thing; he hadn’t fed in the wild for so long, because contrary to the wolf in him, the human detested killing.
He was immune to the weather’s biting cold against his skin. He could feel it, for it stayed cold in the Highlands until late spring, but it didn’t chill the human in him as he stood patiently awaiting the right moment, his heart pumping exuberantly with the thrill of the hunt.
He didn’t have to hunt, as he had a fully stocked cellar at my home, but the need … drove him at times like this.
He crunched for his lethal jump as he heard the old stag in the distance approach. He chose this particular buck because the twelve-pointer was aged and showing signs of decline. He would honor him by bringing his life full circle, and he’d make his death quick.
The stag had not picked up his scent and slowly wandered into range. The man transformed once more into wolf and waited with infinite patience. He wanted a clean kill, one that would be as painless as he could achieve.
All at once and with precision, he was on the stag, bringing him down. A wolf could overpower even something ten times his size. A hybrid had the strength of many wolves.
He made a quick, clean kill, tearing at the stag’s throat to accomplish the kill in the instant.
He needed the fresh blood for the vampire so much a part of who he was, and he wanted the fresh raw meat for the wolf. The human honored the old stag with an ancient Indian prayer.
The human … Chase MacAdams was a hybrid extraordinaire, billionaire, and recluse, and he thought himself a pitiful being, alone and disillusioned with his lot in life. With all the power he held, with all the power his father held, they had not seen that his beautiful mother had a stalker and had been in mortal danger that fateful afternoon. They had arrived on the scene too late to save her, but they had taken on the ancient vampire—Dracula—but had lost him even as they worked to annihilate him.
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She had whispered in her last moment that she had not given up her dear friend’s secret. She had not told Dracula what he wanted to know …
And then she had closed her eyes, and his mother, who was a hybrid, and whom he had always thought invincible, died.
Dracula had the only weapon that could kill an immortal hybrid … had it still, and Dracula, although he and his father had tried to trace him, was off the grid.
Chase’s father had gone off to grieve, but he had stayed on at MacAdams in seclusion and self-pity, plotting what he would do if ever he found the ancient immortal!
Chase MacAdams was powerful beyond measure and equipped with skills that made him nearly invincible, and yet, he was a dissatisfied man and an alpha wolf in desperate need of something he could not, would not name … a mate.
He had not in all his three hundred years imprinted on a female—he had never really fallen in love.
He raised his head, and his dark gold wolf eyes surveyed the craggy hillside as he released a long soulful howl, one that was picked up by a nearby pack of wolves and returned with encouragement. Wolves have a deep and caring social order, and he had been accepted by the local pack a very long time ago.
The Cairngorms had always been his home, but he had never before retreated into such severe seclusion until last year, when he needed to get away from the misery of his disillusionment, the grief of his loss, and the guilt he felt when he was unable to avenge his mother’s murder at Dracula’s hands.
He fed now, fulfilling his physical needs, and left the remains for the stray wildlife that would surely visit when he was gone. Then he was moving again with grace and speed, a wolf reveling in the success of his hunt and the beauty of his forest.
In the distance he could see the ruins of Strathmore Castle, a local tourist haunt. Just below and not yet visible, stood his home, a mansion of stone and logs …
He was so tired of living this existence, for it was no more than that. He wanted more, but he believed there never would be more for him. He could not allow himself to love, for no doubt she would be human and live a human life, and when she discovered what he was, she would be repulsed.
Or just when he thought life had everything to offer with a mate in his arms, he would lose her as his father had lost his mate to some unexpected horror …
So Chase ran to escape his loneliness, but it was always there waiting for him, around the bend, in the mirror … in the family home that he loved …
And then he saw it—a strange car in the bluestone gravel courtyard of his mansion. Why was it there, and who was the beautiful, black-haired young woman knocking at his big oak front door …?
~ Prologue ~
HER LONG, SILKY black hair was a gift from her mother. In her stocking feet she stood at five-five, but with her heeled boots she was a good deal taller. She rubbed her cold hands against her jeans. She shouldn’t feel the cold … she wasn’t supposed to feel the cold, but somehow she did; perhaps it was because she had turned her back on what she was, suppressed everything into non-existence.
Her eyes were often described by the young men attempting to seduce her as exotic, but it was more than a line. It was the truth. Her eyes were almond shaped but large and green like a deep, dark lake, also from her mother, but if you looked closely and deep you would see the glitter of gold—and that she got from her mysterious Scottish father. At the moment her eyes held a wary expression and her body was tense with the anticipation of the unknown. She was about to do something she had never done before, seduce with a lie.
Her dark gray rental car was parked in the gravel courtyard, and although she had been knocking for a few moments, it seemed as though no one was home. There was a separate garage made in the same lovely design of stone and logs, and she walked over to it, her heels twisting a bit in the gravel. Peering inside with her hand over her forehead she saw three cars inside the spacious building. One was a silver Jag, the other a jeep, and the other a truck … and she smiled because it was a Ford 250—American made, here in the Highlands.
She sighed and wondered if Chase MacAdams was out walking his foothills. Where would he be? He only owned one thousand acres …
She returned to the front oak door and peered through its long, wood-paned side window. She put her hands on her jean-covered hips and turned to look down the long winding driveway.
“Well,” she told the wind. “No one home … so I guess I’ll leave it for another day?” As she walked towards her rental, her hips swayed and her provocative body moved gracefully. She fished in her pocket for her keys and stopped as she heard a sound in the woods that flanked and stretched upwards along the driveway.
* * *
Chase licked his lips as he watched her; she stirred a sudden, strong desire in his loins. She was a beauty, and he liked the way she moved. There was almost a stealth to her style. He watched her as she went to his garage, and he saw her delicate dark brows as they drew together. Who the hell was she?
He hurried the remainder of the way and entered his home through the back door. He threw on a pair of jeans and a black T and slipped into his Gucci boots, smiling to himself, for he had always enjoyed high fashion.
He opened his door wide. Her back was to him as she still stood by her rental and scanned the driveway. He said, “May I help you?”
She turned, and he almost sucked in air. She was breathtaking. At a distance he had not realized how incredibly beautiful she was. Her black, silky hair blew across her face, and as she brushed it away and smiled at him, he felt his hard-on throb in his jeans, making him damned uncomfortable. Then she spoke, and the sound of her voice sent shivers through his body.
“Oh, you are here …”
“So I am,” he said in his Old World Scottish accent and had the satisfaction of watching her eyes look him over with what he thought was sure appreciation. Oh, och aye, this was going to be a good day. “Aye, then …” he said and stood aside as he inclined his head and offered, “Would you like to come in out of the cold, lass?”
She laughed and said, “Yes, thank you. It is cold—I didn’t realize it would be quite this cold in your Highlands, and I don’t think this little jacket is doing the trick.”
He looked at the little brown, waist-length soft leather jacket and noticed the fullness of her breasts as his eyelids half closed. He asked, “American?”
* * *
“Yup, that’s me … American … Native American in fact, on my mother’s side.” She had closed the distance between them and stepped into the central hall. A quick glance showed her a modern ‘log cabin—mansion styled’ home. Everything was in rich wood and stone, and it was warm and inviting. She put out her hand and said, “Hi … I’m Roxie MacBran, and your solicitor said you would be expecting me?” She tilted her head.
“Tom said that?” He frowned and turned to the round table sitting in the middle of hallway where a stack of mail he had picked up still sat. He went to it and sorted through until he found what he was looking for and slapped it across his hand, “Ah …” He smiled at her. “Save us some time … Miss MacBran, why are you here?”
“To fill the position of gatekeeper,” she answered with self assurance.
He stopped dead in his tracks and shook his head. “Noo … Oh, I don’t think so.”
“But you haven’t even looked at my references … They should be in that envelope.” She pointed to the letter he was still holding.
“I was looking for a man,” he answered roundly.
“But I am fully qualified. I have a gun license, and I know how to use one. I am a black belt and—”
“Just what do you think being a gatekeeper involves? I don’t need protection or that kind of a guard. I just need someone to man—the key word being ‘man’—my gate at the beginning of my drive. People have a habit of sometimes driving in, parking along my driveway, and using my woods for camping. I need that to stop … and there is more of it during the spring and summer months.”
“If that is all you want, an automatic gate is all you need.”
“If no one is about, they park outside the gate and tramp on up—”
“Then I am the one for the job. No one will tramp on up while I am on duty,” she said firmly.
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
“Why would you want the job? It can be lonely here in the Highlands.”
“You have a village nearby where I’m sure I can find a pub and make some friends, and there is Inverness on my days off.”
He frowned and made a circle, came right up to her, and leaned in close. As his six-foot-something towered over her five-foot-five, he said, “I doona think it is a good idea for a woman to live alone … up here away from … the world.”
“As I said,” she answered softly, looking up into his gold eyes until she thought she could feel his heart beating between them, “I know how to take care of myself, and I need this job.”
“Why? Why do you need this job?”
“The pay is more than I could presently make in the States. Economy not so good just now, and I’m working on my first novel.”
“I don’t have Internet set up in the gatehouse,” he said firmly.
“Ah, but I looked into getting satellite for TV and Internet—no problem. If you give me the job they’ll be out there tomorrow.”
“I doona like this,” he answered, moving another step closer.
She moved into him and looked long into his warm, gold eyes. “But you might change your mind.”
“I doona think so.”
“Give me a chance, and if it doesn’t work, well you can always fire me, boss,” she said and gave him a look that she hoped would blow his resolve away.
She put out her hand. “Deal? I need to hurry and get someone out to the house to install the dish, and I need to go shopping.”