by Clare Murray
Guardians, Eagan had called the dogs. She paused, eyeing them. They were certainly devoted to her, never leaving her side. For as long as she could remember, they’d owned collies. Da must have somehow imprinted them upon her before he’d died, knowing they would protect her until their last breath.
The cottage where Iris lived was just over that rise, less than half a day’s easy ride from Hadrian’s Wall. The witch claimed magic was strong here, both ancient Pict and Roman. To that potent mix she added her Irish traditions, having emigrated to Scotland in her youth.
Iris had been like a second mother to her. The witch had known her since before she was born, having tended to Caitrin’s mother during her pregnancy. She badly needed some time alone with Iris to talk over what was happening with Eagan.
Caitrin cast a guilty look over her shoulder. Strange as it seemed, she was almost missing the werewolf. If she hurried, maybe she could be back before he woke.
Iris was in the garden pulling up weeds when she arrived. The aging witch straightened as Cait approached, beaming.
“Caitrin Flint, it has been too long!”
She walked into the witch’s embrace, allowing all her worries to fall away for that brief few moments. Iris squeezed her tightly, nearly as strong in her old age as she had been fifteen years ago.
“I apologize for not visiting sooner,” Caitrin said, pulling away reluctantly. She was fond of the old witch, who had taught her to read, write and mix simple potions. As a child she had often visited Iris, but the visits had tapered off once Caitrin had taken on more responsibilities at the croft.
“If you had stayed away much longer I would have shown up on your doorstep,” Iris replied. “Come inside for tea and a bite to eat.”
They traipsed indoors, inhaling the combined scents of exotic herbs and freshly baked oatcakes. Iris poured the tea, sitting across from her as Cait dug into the oatcakes. She stalled for time, savoring them down to the last crumb.
“Did you know that Frost and Bannock are Guardians?”
“‘Course I did, child. I helped your da choose his puppies every time. Cait, little one, tell me what’s ailing you.”
Cait took a sip of tea, nervously fiddling with the saucer. “A werewolf showed up on my doorstep this morning.”
“And?”
“He’s still there.”
She’d only seen Iris genuinely surprised a handful of times. The witch blinked, staring at her. “He let you go? Without following you?”
“Not precisely. I slipped out while he was asleep.” It hadn’t been easy. She’d gone out the window with the dogs, fearing the door would creak and give her away. But she’d done it—using the Huntress skills Da taught her. Her only regret was not bringing the sword with her.
“You came here to find out more about your mother.” Iris paused to ascertain the truth of that. When Cait nodded, she continued. “Yes, your mother was half werewolf, a fact which she preferred to be kept private. Her father—your grandfather—was a Loner.”
Caitrin winced, understanding why her mother rejected that part of her heritage. She’d always wondered how her mother—who easily passed as a normal human—could keep up with Da.
“Did she ever…Change?”
“Only in private. Your father offered to find a full-blood to bite her, but your mother didn’t want a full conversion.”
“Would it have saved her from the fever?” Caitrin had to ask.
“Yes, child. Your father never forgave himself for not forcing her to get bitten. As a half-blood she fought hard, but the human part of her succumbed to illness in the end.”
Caitrin swallowed a too-hot sip of tea. “What does this mean for me?”
“Whatever you wish it to mean, child. Times are changing—in ancient days, each kept to their own. Now blood mingles with blood. In the end, you choose who you are.”
“But Eagan has been wandering for centuries looking for a mate,” Caitrin burst out. “It isn’t fair.”
“There is a distinct lack of werewolf females.” Iris shrugged, as if to say that’s not my problem.
“Am I a suitable mate for him?”
“Why do you ask?” Iris refilled her cup.
“When I’m around him, I feel…I…” Her bluntness suddenly dissipated into embarrassment.
Iris nearly dropped the teapot. “Attracted to him? Do you mean to say the feeling is mutual?”
Cait nodded miserably.
“Have you acted upon those feelings? No? Then you still have a choice. You can send him away—I’ll cast you an extra-potent warding spell—or you can stay with him. If you do the latter, there’s no walking away. You’ll be addicted to him and he to you for the rest of your natural lifespan. He will also insist upon biting you. Turning you. He will require you to run with him as a wolf.”
Addicted to Eagan? Able to run her hands across his velvet hardness anytime she pleased? There was a definite draw in that idea. Besides, she didn’t think she’d want to walk away from sex with him once she’d indulged in the experience.
Yet what would happen to her Huntress skills? Would they disappear, succumbing to his bite, leaving her unproven forever?
“There is another werewolf as well,” Caitrin said abruptly. “Eagan says he’s a Loner of sorts, one who’s lived far past his lifespan, but there’s a wizard helping him with dark magic.”
“Och, is that so?” Iris rose, beginning to rustle through cabinets. She pulled out a small glass bottle and turned back to Cait. “Is the other werewolf following you?”
“I backtracked and walked through the beck on my way here. He’ll have some trouble finding me.”
“But find you he will, child, with the help of that wizard. He will not leave you alone now that he knows you exist. Given his age, he’ll be dangerous. They both will be.”
“I was going to track and kill the Loner. Da would have done it right away, but I couldn’t.” Caitrin made the confession all in one breath.
“Ah, child. You never told me you struggled with your heritage.”
“I was a disappointment to Da. I can track, I have a little bit of the Sense…but I can’t kill my catch.”
“You were never a disappointment to your father.” The pure conviction in Iris’ voice nearly convinced her in turn. “Listen to me, young Caitrin Flint. Your da loved you for yourself.”
“But he tried to change my mother, have her werewolf-bitten.”
“Which he did purely out of an overwhelming desire to see her survive and raise her daughter to adulthood!”
Caitrin winced. “That’s not fair,” she said for the second time.
“Life is not fair.” The words were tempered with a slight smile.
Cait looked away, knowing the old witch was right. “What is the potion for?”
“To help you see clearly, child. I must be honest with you—the potion is designed for witches who can see the supernatural by means of their third eye. Its effects on you may not be so clear-cut. You will need to use all your senses, paranormal or otherwise, to resolve this situation.”
“Should I drink it now?” Caitrin regarded the glass vial dubiously. The viscous liquid within was a dull gray-green.
“Yes.” Iris ladled a generous dollop of honey into Cait’s teacup. “Here. The sweetness will help chase the taste away. It is not pleasant.”
Not pleasant was the biggest understatement Cait had ever heard. She staggered, rasping for breath as the potion hit the back of her throat, burning its way into her stomach where it sat like a chunk of lead. The taste…ugh, rancid and acidic all at once, she nearly heaved it up again. Blindly she groped for the honey, spooned it into her mouth.
“Told you it was vile.” Iris whisked the empty vial away. “Sit here and finish the honey.”
“I should start home. It’s almost evening and I promised to wake Eagan before dinner.”
The witch snorted. “He’s a werewolf, child. They hardly sleep. I can almost guarantee he’ll have been on your trail
for the better part of an hour.”
Cait barely hid her shiver of anticipation. She didn’t think she would mind meeting Eagan on her way back. Just how skilful was the werewolf at tracking? Would her distractions throw him off?
Iris thrust a small package into her hands at the door. “Here, child. Cheese, bread and apples. Have a safe journey home.”
She hugged the witch. “Thank you, Iris.”
The witch smiled. “Let me know your decision, Caitrin. Whatever you choose, I will support you.”
Iris was still watching as Caitrin reached the top of the hill. She turned and waved, clutching the package of food away from the collies’ interested snouts, then set off downhill.
This time she was able to cross the beck without wetting her feet, hopping from stone to stone as the dogs splashed through. She frowned slightly, wondering if Eagan really was awake and following her.
A single suspicious woof from Frost was all the warning she received before she came upon the figure in the rapidly falling dark. At first she thought he was Eagan, standing there waiting in the road. That same involuntary lust rose hot and deep, more intense than her initial reaction now that her body was more experienced.
Arousal was immediately tempered by fear as the man in the road took a step toward her. He was not Eagan. And he had a subtle wrongness about him.
“A beautiful young woman, all alone in the wilderness.”
“I do not have time to stand chatting with strangers, especially one to whom I have not been properly introduced,” Caitrin informed him. Some small part of her hoped he would listen to reason, take a cue from her rude politeness and leave.
“My name is Delaney Coburn, wee lass. Now we are no longer strangers, you see.”
He came toward her. So did the lust. “Ahh, now I see why Eagan was so keen to keep you to himself.”
“I am a Huntress,” she warned him. Why the hell didn’t I go back for the sword? She examined Delaney, trying to stay cold, detached, like Da would have done. This werewolf didn’t have Eagan’s size, but he was well-muscled and had the weight and reach of her.
Surprisingly, he was handsome. His face was more filled out than Eagan’s, eyes darker, but his features were rugged and his lips curved in a pleasant-enough smile. Still, there was that wrongness tugging at her.
“Beautiful Huntress.” Delaney had noticed her examination. “Do you like what you see?”
Cait inhaled, taking in the werewolf’s scent. He smelled like heather with a hint of mustiness, as if he’d slept atop a pile of old books. It made her nose wrinkle. She forced herself to stand her ground. What was the potion supposed to do? Iris had told her to use all her senses.
Just as she was trying to figure out how to do that, Delaney sprang forward. Before she could defend herself, he was kissing her, stoking that inconvenient inferno Eagan had lit with his arrival. One hand slipped down her pants, cupping her buttocks and pulling her toward him.
Her first instinct had been to close her eyes. Now she opened them, getting a good view of Delaney’s eyes as she pulled back.
They were dull red.
She closed her eyes again. Reopened them a second later. Still red. The skin around his mouth was pockmarked. She inhaled his scent, tasting the abnormality of him, and stumbled backward.
Delaney cocked his head, pausing to stand very still. The pockmarks and other blemishes suddenly became difficult to make out, but if Cait looked at him from the corners of her eyes she could see his true form.
What she saw made her want to scream. He was a hideous old man underneath the aura he projected. Wiry muscles protruded from sagging skin. He was still dangerous, posing a significant threat to her safety. Runes inked in black magic encircled his arms, legs and torso, pulsing dully whenever he moved.
As the silence stretched, he licked his mouth with a gray tongue, smacking wetly. Cait shivered, seeing the duality of the action. If she moved her head, changed angles even slightly, he turned back into a handsome man, lips curved in an inviting smile. It was disconcerting, even nauseating. Behind her, Frost and Bannock watched unmoving. She sensed their readiness to attack.
“Why did you pull away, beautiful one?”
“I have to go,” Cait said evenly. Have to go scrub your touch from my skin, she added mentally.
“Oh, I think not.” His voice acquired a harsh edge. “You think to run back to your protector, yes?”
“No,” Cait said. “Not to him.”
Never to him. Not if Eagan was the same as Delaney. She hadn’t been in possession of the potion when he’d arrived. Now that she could see through the werewolf illusion, she wasn’t letting anyone into the cottage. She’d have to hope the fourth witchward held.
“Good lass. Wouldn’t want you running back to that nasty old Eagan, would we?” His voice was silky again, patronizing.
“I will not be running to him,” Caitrin said, “but I’m sure as hell not staying with you.”
She turned, sprinting into the heather. He followed immediately.
Chapter Five
Delaney. The wind carried the Loner’s scent to him. It scorched his nostrils, burned him with the brand of failure.
Failure to keep Caitrin safe.
He snarled, wolf form amplifying the sound. Charged forward on shadow-black paws that shredded the dirt with their claws.
Delaney was close. Closer. Moving. His scent moving with him, floating in the chilled air. He plotted the Loner’s movement with the skill born of centuries of survival, of hunting unnatural freaks like this fallen werewolf. Delaney should have died a century ago.
Only the blackest of wizardry held the Loner together. Since Delaney was long since devoid of sanity, it was a wonder that he had escaped Alpha justice.
Eagan scrambled up a steep rise, pausing to sniff the air. Yes—there she was. Her Guardians were with her as well.
Leaping onto the rutted road, Eagan put on a burst of speed. Delaney was coming closer. So was Caitrin. Moments later they appeared over the rise, running toward him.
Unable to take the time to shift, Delaney was chasing the lass in human form. With Alpha eyes, Eagan saw him as he truly was—an abomination that should be long perished. He was only too happy to help him along.
Silent as death, Eagan slammed into Delaney’s chest. Even in his weaker form, the other werewolf had the presence of mind to twist away from Eagan’s teeth, slashing at his fur with a bone-handled knife.
“There you are, MacCulloch. I tasted your lass, had her tongue on mine,” Delaney boasted, dancing away. “She’s sweet—so tender and full of life.”
Eagan snarled, the sound rippling through his chest. In one fluid movement, he darted in and slashed at Delaney’s abdomen. Blood spurted, crimson against heather.
“A fine try, Eagan,” Delaney sneered. “But these runes renew me quicker than my werewolf blood ever did.”
Indeed, Delaney’s flesh was already mending, knitting tooth marks into unbroken, if wrinkled, skin. Eagan eyed his opponent, measuring the marks near his throat. If he ripped them apart…
“While you admire what I have become, the lass runs toward my wizard,” Delaney jeered. “I shall enjoy her writhing under me, begging for more as she calls my name.”
Eagan was gone before he’d heard the rest of the sentence, streaking down the hill in a blur of black. If it had been anyone else but Caitrin, he might have stayed, testing the dark runes’ extent of protection. He was certain Delaney’s immortality could be breached somehow. The werewolf was unnatural, hideous in his survival, and Eagan knew the tattoos had something to do with that.
Yet Caitrin’s safety was his priority. He would rip the wizard limb to limb if the man had done so much as threaten her. Already Eagan could feel the wizard’s spellcasting lending a malevolent charge to the air. He’d cast a temporary ward which Eagan could see gleaming across the road ahead. Designed to entrap, the ward would hold unwary crossers immobile until either the wizard or Delaney released them.
>
Caitrin was running straight toward it.
Eagan roared a warning but she only fled faster. Still too far away to stop the lass, he put on a desperate burst of speed—and half strangled on his next roar.
She had seen the wards! The lass was going around them, calling sharply to her collies to stay at her side. She dodged the next one too, scrambling across a hillock, falling to her hands and knees as she continued her desperate flight.
By Brighid, how was she seeing the wards? It had taken decades for Eagan to learn how to open his third eye. Even then, a werewolf’s Sight did not hold the clarity of a witch or wizard’s. He shook his head, grimly continuing to close the gap between himself and his lass.
Eagan caught her just inside her property, blocking her way to the cottage. She skidded to a halt in front of him, eyes wild.
What had Delaney done to her?
His scent was all over her body—on her lips, down her damned trousers. Eagan snarled helplessly. Immediately, he wished he had not done so. Caitrin flinched back, staring at him in terror. The Guardians growled, swishing their black-and-white tails.
Heedless of the risk, Eagan threw his head back, shifting into human form. Although he had several centuries of experience, he was still vulnerable during the Change. He forced the process as fast as he dared, gritting his teeth through the pain. Even so, she was halfway to the door before he recovered.
Naked, he pursued her. She faced him in her sitting room, clutching the sword and panting.
“Caitrin.” He shut the door behind him, approaching slowly.
She shook her head even as he spoke, obviously too rattled to reply. For a long while he stood still, respecting her need for space. Tried not to scent Delaney all over her skin. She was bleeding from cuts on her hands and knees. He clenched his hands in an effort not to approach her to tend to them.
Keeping the sword between them, she paced a few steps to the side, staring intently at his face. Then back, her eyes flickering up and down his body. He frowned. Had she been caught by a wizard spell after all?
“What are ye doing, lass?”