Sinfully Supernatural

by Multiple

  His turn to hunt.

  The wolf’s mouth fell open, tongue lolling in the wind, sampling the air. He was ever watchful for the dangerous scent of man. Luckily, they were traveling upwind, which brought the scents to him. He would know they were there long before they appeared. Kid was safe for the time being, which meant Cody could roam.

  The young man’s frequent visits to every hovel they came across left the wolf bewildered. He refused to follow him too closely, the smell of unwashed bodies, cooking food and strangeness overwhelming. But he never strayed far.

  He’d ambushed one angry husband who came after Kid at their first town and frightened off another at the third town. Kid’s insatiable appetites for female companionship didn’t make him discriminating. They’d even spent one rainy night at a remote farmhouse. Cody in the barn with the horses while Kid seduced the absent farmer’s daughter. At least she didn’t have a husband.

  The wolf understood the husband’s anger, the rage at Kid’s philandering. But Kid was pack. That meant Cody would protect him.

  A long escarpment of rocky outcroppings beckoned. The sun-drenched stone would be warm in the air that turned progressively chilly the further west and higher up they went. Kid said they’d be in the mountains soon, but the distant peaks were closer than Kid believed. Cody grew up on a mountain; one didn’t have to go higher to find the colder air.

  Home flashed through his mind. The scents of the lake, the rich pines, firs and cedars were fresh to his tongue. A familiar flame haired female splashing in the icy cold lake, heating the water at the edges until the boys could frolic there as well.

  The howl tore out of his throat before he could stop it, hard, long and keening. Scarlett chose another. Cody understood that. She was happy. The man was happy for her.

  The wolf missed her.

  The land went silent around him, what few critters that hadn’t scrambled out of his way huddled quietly, sure that the end was near. Cody ignored them all. He’d caught the scent of deer the night before. He wanted venison, sick of rabbit, squirrel, grouse and fish. The wolf wouldn’t bother with it all, but Kid said it was his turn.

  He would take care of his pack.

  Evening brought the cold promise of rain on the wind. Winding his way up the path to the lashed together trees and makeshift wind break Kid set up for camp, the wolf was glad for the shelter and the scent of wood smoke and crackle of fire. The doe he carried was heavy, but he’d taken her down as close to the scent of wood smoke as he could. Kid glanced up from mending the saddle, his eyebrows raised.

  “Nice. You want yours cooked or uncooked?” The young man set aside the saddle and reached for the long knife he carried in his gear.

  Cody deposited the doe next to the fire and sat. Kid could handle the butchering, when he was done, Cody would drag the remains far enough away that the scavengers wouldn’t bother them. He was tired. The long circuits around Kid’s path left him weary in body and mind. Once he ate, he would sleep tonight.

  Dreamless, unless his brother showed up to plague him again. Buck was Quanto’s child in body and spirit. His brother possessed the gift to visit the dreams of others, to affect them and to communicate through them. He’d always had trouble with Cody’s wolf, because even in his dreams, he remained in wolf form. His brother could talk to him, but Cody refused to answer.

  He could, he supposed. But Buck wanted him to come home.

  The wolf wasn’t ready for that and the family was safe. Sam Kane would keep Scarlett protected, most of their brothers lingered at the Flying K and likely would winter there.

  He had time.

  The scent of blood drew a growl from his belly. The doe’s flavor clung to his tongue. He could have devoured her on the spot, but Kid needed to eat too. Instead of his usual chatter, the boy skinned the doe, carving off flank and muscle to spit over the fire. Kid was careful not to spill the entrails, but the coppery hints of blood would mark their campsite. When he’d carved and spit enough meat to feed them for the night and the next day, Cody lumbered over to grab the remains and haul them off.

  “Smells good. Thanks.” Kid’s words followed Cody back down the path and into the brush. He carried the female a mile and deposited her amongst some leaves at the base of a tree. He nudged her face with his nose and whuffled the scent, remembering it and thanking her spirit for the sacrifice.

  The wolf didn’t much care about the ceremony of it, but thoughts of Quanto brought Cody’s upbringing to mind. Living with nature meant appreciating those spirits that passed so that he could eat. He’d chosen a younger female, one not in season, nursing or pregnant. It was the best he could do to assuage his hunger and his duty.

  Rolling through the leaves, he doused the scent of her blood on his fur with loamy earth, briar and foliage. It wouldn’t wash it away completely, but it would make him less attractive to other predators and save him the task of having to kill them.

  The first drops of rain spattered him as he returned to the lean-to. Kid had angled the fire to be sheltered by the leafy roof. The area was smoky, but warm and dry. His mare stood against the back wall of leaves, drowsing with a bag of oats open near her feet. She cracked an eyelid as Cody slid through the gathering dusk to circle the fire.

  The venison sizzled.

  “Saddle’s fixed. Shirt’s mended. There are clothes in that pack that will fit you if you want to change. We’re low on corn and bread. We’ll have to see if we can get oats ahead or better grazing land for Misty.”

  Cody slid down, forelegs stretching in front of him, back legs tucked and his tail drifting down to lay against the ground. He set his chin on his legs and watched the flickering flames.

  “Sleep, I got first watch. I’ll wake you when the food is ready.” Kid’s voice steadied his descent into the doze. The flickering flames and a redheaded beauty danced together in his mind’s eye. The wolf sighed, darting off into his dreams to remember when Scarlett was his and no others’.

  Purchase Brave Are the Lonely to keep reading….

  About the Author

  National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

  http://www.heatherlong.net

  More books from Heather Long

  Always a Marine Series

  Once Her Man, Always Her Man

  Retreat Hell! She Just Got Here

  Tell It to the Marine

  Proud to Serve Her

  Her Marine

  No Regrets, No Surrender

  The Marine Cowboy

  The Two and the Proud

  A Marine and a Gentleman

  Combat Barbie

  Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

  What Part of Marine Don’t You Understand?

  A Marine Affair

  Marine Ever After

  Marine in the Wind

  Marine with Benefits

  A Marine of Plenty

  A Candle for a Marine

  Marine under the Mistletoe

  Have Yourself a Marine Christmas

  Lest Old Marines Be Forgot

  Boomers

  Yesterday’s Heroes

  Chance Monroe Adventures

  Earth Witches Aren’t Easy

  Plan Witch from Out of Town

  Bad Witch Rising

  Going Royal

  Some Like It Royal

  S
ome Like It Scandalous

  Fevered Hearts

  Marshal of Hel Dorado

  Brave Are the Lonely

  Micah & Mrs. Miller

  A Fistful of Dreams

  Raising Kane

  Wanted: Alive or Fevered

  The Martini Sisterhood

  Shaken

  Soulgirls

  Into the Spotlight

  Taking the Stage

  Waiting in the Wings

  Playing Against Type

  Behind the Curtain

  Standalone

  Haunt Me

  Coming Soon

  Wolf Bite

  Her Marine Bodyguard

  Wild and Fevered

  The Quick and the Fevered

  A Man Called Wyatt

  Catch Me

  Treasure Me

  Hunt Me

  Dirty

  Cosmopolitan

  Spicy

  Perfect

  Some Like It Deadly

  Some Like It Secret

  Some Like It Easy

  Tricks of the Trade

  Breaking the Rules

  Forbidden Rescue

  Mischief, Mongrels and Mayhem

  CALLUM

  Melissa Schroeder

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Dedication

  To Les, because he told me to write it no matter what anyone said. Love you, babe.

  Acknowledgements

  There is so much to be said about this book. Back in 2007, I came up with the idea for this series. It actually finalled in the Romance Junkies Reader contest (under an assumed name). It was shopped to NY houses, pitched to digital, and nothing happened. I was told to keep waiting. But thanks to self-publishing and the support of my readers, I am able to release it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Special thanks to Kris Cook, Chloe Vale, Kendra Egert and especially to Brandy Walker who urged me to expand my horizons and release it. Thanks everyone for your support.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The Cursed Clan: Callum

  Copyright © 2012 by Melissa Schroeder

  Published by Melissa Schroeder

  Edited by Chloe Vale

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First electronic publication: February 2012

  The Cursed Clan:

  Callum

  Prologue

  Scotland, 1746

  Death would be too kind for the Clan McLennan.

  Donedella McWalton clutched her husband’s faded plaid to her chest. Even as fear slithered down her spine, she knocked on the door to the witch’s remote cottage. As she waited, a chilling gust of wind stole through the thrashing branches of the winter-bare trees.

  From above, an owl screeched. She shivered. Before her nerves settled, the door creaked open. Donedella saw no one standing before her. She hesitated in the gaping doorway, which earned her a disembodied cackle.

  “Come in, my lady,” an ancient voice called from behind the door.

  Donedella’s heart skipped a beat. Bolstering her courage, she skittered over the threshold, eyes darting around the room. With only the light from the hearth’s fire, it took a moment for Donedella’s eyesight to adjust. No bats hung from the ceiling. No potion boiled over the fire. But as the flames danced, the shadows moved and dread twisted through her.

  “You are Lady Donedella.”

  She jumped at the sound of her name and toward the voice. Donedella had imagined the woman to be older, scarier. But this woman was not much different from herself. The kerchief on her head covered what looked to be a mop of curly gray hair. Her simple peasant clothing draped over her generous figure. Even as Donedella noted the normal dress, she sensed dispassionate study from the woman who earned her keep off the misery of others.

  Donedella nodded.

  The witch walked forward, her steps sure and steady. She stopped within an inch of Donedella.

  “You want to kill someone?”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “That would be tae easy, tae nice.”

  The old woman humphed and paced away. Donedella watched her, wondering if the witch would do what she requested. Or could. This witch was her last chance. Her last hope. Without the woman’s help, the vile McLennans would ‘ner pay for their crime. Panic raced through her, curdling her stomach. She swallowed the bile in her throat.

  The witch glanced over her shoulder, and Donedella almost gasped. The cold, calculating gleam in the other woman’s eyes sunk into her bones, chilling her from the inside out. She fought the shiver that raced down her spine.

  “For this you shall pay...handsomely?” The smile she flashed Donedella had nothing to do with pleasure.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded. “Aye. I’ll pay anythin’ to have my revenge on the McLennans.”

  The older woman glanced at the plaid Donedella held. She’d almost forgotten she’d brought it. “I see you have the plaid. You know what you are asking? You know that this curse is not done lightly?”

  Before she could allow her conscience to get the better of her, Donedella let the pain of the last four months bubble up inside her. The death of her beloved, the murder of her sons, and the ending of their clan as they knew it was too much to bear. Even as she knew that the spell she sought would condemn her soul to hell, she could not stop the hate. It swept through her, whirled into her heart, into her soul, demanding vengeance.

  “I want them tae suffer.”

  “’Tis as you wish, my lady.” The fire snapped, the flames jumping as the witch nodded again and turned from her. “They will suffer, indeed.”

  Chapter One

  Present Day, Edinburgh, Scotland

  Callum Lennon dropped the file folder into his briefcase and sent his younger cousin an irritated glare. “You said she would be here at two, Angus. It’s now four, and I’ve got a meeting on the other side of town. I’ll never make it on time.”

  Angus adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and studied him. The younger man graced Callum with an expression rife with his legendary patience.

  Damn. Every department head claimed when they received The Stare, they knew they’d lost the argument. Callum supposed this wasn’t any different.

  “She’s running a little late. It isn’t her fault London was fogged in,” Angus pointed out.

  Callum grunted. “It’s her fault for coming from London in the first place. Bloody Sassenach.”

  Angus smiled but said nothing in return. Everyone in the family knew Callum distrusted all things English. His younger cousins could have the luxury of an open mind. But Callum’s memories were still ripe, even after all these years. But then, no man walked away from watching his family and friends butchered with a whole heart or soul.

  “She’s the only expert who would travel here on short notice to talk with us.”

  Callum raised a dark brow. “That should tell you something.”

  Angus continued as if Callum hadn’t even responded. “And despite your assumptions, she is considered the best in the field. Her published works in archeology alone would qualify her. With her interest in Celtic legends and her ability to read so many dead languages, she’s a godsend. We were lucky to catch her between projects.”

  Unusual restlessness forced Callum to his feet. Even as he approached the window, he could feel worry for his cousins settling around his shoulders like a familiar cloak. Duty bound him to prote
ct the clan at all costs, and he had fallen short of shielding them more than once.

  A fine mist covered the window due to an abnormal November shower. The weather fit his mood. A burst of wind rattled around them, a sound he found oddly calming. Callum was well acquainted with the cold. For years he had lived with it in his blood, chilling his bones, freezing his soul. Each year he seemed to slip a little further into the depths of it, until he wondered if he’d ever be free. Even if they won this battle, he knew well he might have already lost the war.

  Callum didn’t like Angus’s plan, but with everything he and his cousins had faced, he owed them this bit of hope. The other four were so optimistic about what their discovery could mean. And, hating to crush their expectations, he allowed it. It was naïve and desperate, but he understood why they wanted the quest to be true.

  But it could be true.

  Callum viciously squashed that voice in his head, the one that spun gold out of midair. As laird, he had to ignore the lure of fantasy and keep his feet planted firmly on the ground. If this dream shattered, as it had all the times before, and their lives returned to “normal,” he would handle their pain, their loss. It was his duty to look after them.

  Angus’s mobile rang, breaking into Callum’s brooding thoughts. After a few short sentences and a quick laugh, Angus hung up.

  “That was Fletcher. They’re on their way up.”

  He shot Angus another irritated glower, and then turned to look out the window again. They wanted this expert, but that didn’t mean Callum had to be nice, especially since they were paying this woman a bloody fortune.