The Pack Rules Boxed Set: The Complete Series of Wolf, Bear, and Dragon Shifter Romances

by Michele Bardsley

  “They’re arriving tomorrow night.”

  “Ah, yes. The midnight ceremony that will open memory’s door and restore the much-missed Clíona.” Jessica finished her drink and plunked the glass onto the bar. She turned to face him. “Have you found a witch?”

  Aiden shook his head.

  “The dragonwitches are extinct. A common witch will not be strong enough for the final ritual. It’s been such a long time. How do you know this spell will still work, Aiden?”

  “Fate has returned my beloved,” said Aiden. “I have to believe that all will fall into place to fully reunite us.” He stared at the amber liquid swirling in his glass. Foreboding clenched his stomach, and he no longer desired the brandy. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing. He’d waited so long for her. The world dismissed dragons as legends. Humans no longer believed in their kind. As the dragonwitch had predicted, Clíona had come back to him.

  Aiden put the brandy glass down and watched as Jessica busied herself studying the bookshelves, her well-manicured fingers dancing along the hardcover spines. She’d never been much of a reader, preferring action and challenge to quiet, speculative endeavors. Aiden had always believed that Jessica had never felt comfortable with herself. Her confidence came from others. She handed over her self-esteem for pretty compliments and shallow intimacy. Despite all her years, she hadn’t gained an ounce of wisdom.

  “Why was Shannon so angry with you?”

  Jessica stiffened, her fingers pausing their spidery crawl. She turned to him and offered a smile. “I have no idea. I guess she sees me as the competition.”

  “Shannon? Or Clíona?”

  Her gaze flickered with annoyance. “Both, I suppose. She certainly sounded like Clíona when she was screaming at me.”

  Aiden knew Jessica wasn’t telling him the whole story. He knew that Clíona and Aithne had never been friends. His other siblings embraced his chosen mate as one of their own, but not Aithne. He’d chalked it up to her being young and bullheaded. At that time, she’d thought herself above humans, but so did most dragons. Arrogance had been so many of his kind’s undoing.

  His entire family had once lived in this castle. At first, they conquered the area, and those who lived in the village feared the dragons and offered sacrifices. But after Aiden had married Clíona, the dragons became protectors of the humans. Aithne hadn’t taken his bonding with a human female too well, despite the fact he’d disposed of the whole mating notion when they were teenagers. Mostly, she found reasons to stay out of Clíona’s presence. When Aiden found out his stepsister had taken a lover in the village, he thought she’d mended her heart and moved on.

  But apparently, she hadn’t.

  “How long do I have to pretend to be the daughter of the help?” she asked. “I don’t understand why you can’t introduce me as your cousin, or something.”

  “Creating a new identity is vital to keeping the few dragons left hidden from the world. You know that.”

  “I don’t think Mrs. Calhoun likes me.”

  “She doesn’t like anyone. But she is loyal and willing to pretend you belong to her family.”

  Jessica tossed her hair. “If you say so. The name Jessica suits me better than Aithne. I may even keep it for the next incarnation of my dragon self.”

  Aiden sighed. His stepsister would never change. She enjoyed the pleasures of wealth far too much to try a morally progressive life. He knew casting her as the Calhoun’ daughter would irritate her, but he had hoped she would embrace the opportunity to learn something about modern, working-class life.

  “I think I’ll go freshen up,” said Jessica. “Have fun brooding, Heathcliff.”

  “A literary reference?” he asked. “So, you’ve read Wuthering Heights?”

  “I saw the movie.” She wiggled her fingers to signal good-bye then she left the study and shut the door behind her.

  Aiden retrieved his brandy and went to sit before the hearth. He settled into the leather wingback chair and stared at the flickering flames. The dragonwitch had warned him that he should only complete the ritual when he absolutely sure that he’d found the soul of his wife. He’d lied to Shannon about the excavation. His whole purpose had been to get her to Ireland, to him, to their home, and see if he could revive his true love. Tomorrow night, the powerful spell would release Clíona’s memories and unmask her true soul.

  He sipped the brandy, enjoyed the sweet, smooth burn of the alcohol. The dragonwitch had warned him that he might search a thousand years before he found his wife again, reborn in the human world. The hag had nearly been right. Though she long ago settled into dust, he’d searched the world, time and again, looking for signs that Clíona walked the Earth once more.

  He had searched eight lifetimes for his beloved.

  Now, in the 21st century, he’d begun to fear that his planning, his sacrifices had been for naught. Eight times had he reinvented himself, using his wealth and power to seek what should’ve been unattainable—lost love.

  This time, they would have their happily-ever-after. He would not allow echoes from their former lives together to prevent their union. Dragons and legends belonged in the past. He’d been unable to discover how his wife had ended up in that cave, drowned, but he would never believe she’d taken her own life. They had both mourned the loss of their babe, but Clíona was strong in mind, body, and spirit. She would not throw herself into the water out of despair.

  Thinking about his wife’s death made him anxious. The nightmares were bad enough, but he still relived the moment he pulled her out of the water and knew she was gone. Aiden squeezed the glass so hard, he heard it crack. He eased his grip. No one existed now who would harm him or Clíona. Happiness was their only future.

  He’d make sure of it.

  Feeling restless, he decided the only way to shake off his worries would be a quick flight. He tossed the brandy down the bar’s sink and threw away the ruined glass. His bedroom had very large windows that retracted, which came in handy when one was a dragon.

  By the time he got to his bedroom, his dragon was roaring to go. He shucked his clothing and strode naked to the balcony. He leapt onto the balustrade, his gaze on the rolling land below, and further out, the shining blue of the ocean. Transforming into a dragon took a few minutes, and he could feel the beast snapping with impatience as he morphed smooth human skin into large red scales. His feet became large claws with sharp talons, and his outstretched arms flowed into dragon wings.

  He drew in a breath, smelling and tasting the earth in a way no human ever could. Then he launched off the balcony, talons scratching the stone, and soared into the sky.

  9

  SHANNON AWOKE, HER heart pounding, the name “Áillen” frozen on her lips. Sweat beaded her brow and fear clogged her throat.

  She sat up in bed, shivering, not because it was cold, but because the intensity of the nightmare had revved her adrenaline.

  Why on earth would she dream so vividly about Clíona’s death?

  Shannon hugged herself, rubbing her arms as she calmed herself. She had studied the legend of the dragon and the Raven Maiden a thousand times. She knew the story by heart. She didn’t know why she was so determined to prove Clíona and Áillen were real. She was desperate, really, to show the world the legend of the dragon was based on fact. Not, the dragon part, obviously, because that creature only existed in mythology. The dragon was part of the Kearney crest, which might be why it was added to the tale. However, Áillen was reported to have a dangerous temper, and she believed that the Clonakilty villagers giving him the moniker out of fear. Unable to shake off the residual effects of the nightmare, Shannon scooted off the bed and crossed the room to her balcony. She opened the French doors and stepped onto the stone patio. The cool October wind tickled her hair. Breathing in the fresh air brought some calmness to her. She leaned forward and studied the landscape.

  Ireland was such a beautiful place, especially here. Rolling green hills with forested thatches stretched out before he
r, and beyond that, the glittering promise of the ocean. Shannon shivered. Not that she wanted an up close and personal view. Water gave her the jitters. She’d learned how to swim because her parents insisted on it, but she’d never willingly gone to pools and lakes and oceans. The drowning dream had probably been an extension of her phobia.

  She heard a growling cry and yelped. What the hell? She turned her gaze toward the sound and saw a very large bird in the distance, flying toward the ocean. She squinted as she tried to discern what kind of bird had wings like that and cried like a Cockatiel on steroids. For a moment, the bird turned, and Shannon saw sunlight glint off a red leathery wing. She saw fire spate from the beast’s mouth, and another strange cry followed. Then the creature flew completely out of her sight.

  Shannon put a hand to her chest as her heart thumped. She really needed glasses. Or sleep. Or a big vodka martini. Because I did not just see a dragon.

  AIDEN KNOCKED ON Shannon’s door. He’d felt refreshed after his flight, but couldn’t resist checking on Shannon before he took a shower and returned to the world at large. When she answered, she looked as if she’d just woken up. Her messy hair and the pillow lines on her cheek made her more adorable. Her womanly scent clung to everything. He remembered that floral smell, nearly the same as the scented oil Clíona would make for herself to dot behind her ears and on her neck. His dragon bellowed to be let out, to claim his mate once more.

  Patience, he told himself. Soon, she will be ours again.

  Before he could inquire about Shannon’s health, she blurted, “Do you think dragons were ever real?”

  Shocked, Aiden stared at her.

  Apparently, she took his dazed look as an answer. She lifted her hands beseechingly. “I know, right? No proof of dragons. Not the kind they talk about in medieval texts, at least.” She shook her head. “I'm acting ridiculous.”

  “I would like to think dragons are real,” he said carefully, “and that one day you might find evidence of them.”

  She smiled. “Really? That’s fantastic. I don’t suppose I get to excavate a dragon’s graveyard tomorrow?”

  “If you find a dragon, Shannon, you may keep him.”

  “A Kearney dragon.”

  Aiden heard the longing in her voice. Guilt ate at him for not telling her the truth. She wasn’t ready. Or maybe he wasn’t ready. What if she denied him? Tomorrow, he would have time to present his case. To show her the truth about her own soul. He had to believe that she would go to the ceremony and let the magic do its work. When her past and present would flow into one, and she remembered their love, nothing would stop him from claiming her fully.

  “How are you feeling, Shannon?”

  “Better, I think. I’m going to take a shower and change clothes.”

  “I’ll make sure Mrs. Calhoun brings you something to eat.”

  “Thank you.”

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the day to come. What if she was so appalled by his behavior she refused to go through with the ceremony? He loved her. With all his heart. He swallowed his fear and tried to get his emotions in check. Surely eternal love merited forgiveness.

  “Do you think we could go into the village? Just for a couple of hours?”

  “Of course,” said Aiden. “This evening, I will happily squire my lady around the town.”

  “Wonderful!”

  “I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour. Does that sound good?”

  “Yes. Perfect.”

  He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Until we meet again, love.”

  SHANNON WALKED OUT of the bathroom, toweling her hair. After talking herself out of her crazy perception of a dragon flying about Ireland’s shores, she’d taken a shower to wash off the day’s weirdness. When she tied her hair up in the towel, she saw the tray on top of her bed. It held a bowl of stew, a plate with two thick slabs of warm, fresh bread, and a steaming cup of tea. Aiden must’ve sent Mrs. Calhoun with the promised food.

  With a little food in her belly, she’d feel her old self again and ready to tackle tomorrow’s field trip to the dig site. She tossed the towel onto the end of the bed, and then sat next to the tray. How lovely. The soup was fragrant and delicious, and the scrumptious bread was made better by dipping it into the soup. She finished off every morsel of food and the minty-tasting tea and sighed with happiness.

  She wasn’t sure what to do with the tray and decided to bring it to the kitchen herself. Then she would track down Aiden and see if he was ready to go into the village with her. She wanted to see Clonakilty and soak in its history. She’d explored the streets with Google Earth, but she wanted to walk the cobbled streets, feel the history of it under her feet, touch the centuries-old buildings, and most of all, she wanted to view the memorial statue of Áillen and Clíona.

  She dressed in jeans and a dark green sweater. Lastly, she put on her hiking boots, figuring they would work best for sightseeing. Brushing her hair back, she pulled it into a ponytail and applied light make-up.

  She examined her handiwork in the mirror. Well, she supposed it would do. After all, she was here to work, not to find a date.

  Unless Aiden wanted to date her.

  Hah.

  As she walked to the door, she suddenly felt woozy. She sat heavily on the bed and pressed trembling hands to her temples.

  What’s wrong with me?

  She tried to stand, but her legs wobbled and her knees buckled. She grabbed the nearest bedpost and clung to it. Nausea cramped her stomach. Fear clawed at her, a living thing shredding her guts with poisoned talons.

  She needed to get help. The wrongness of how she felt frightened her. She let go of the bedpost and shuffled to the door, her insides on fire and her lungs laboring with the effort to breathe. It was as if all the oxygen in the room had been siphoned out. She grabbed the doorknob and wretched it open then stumbled into the hallway. Clinging to the wall, she tried to take several deep breaths and willed her heartbeat to slow its erratic pace. Aiden. Oh, how she wanted Aiden.

  “Something wrong, Miss?”

  Shannon turned to find Mrs. Calhoun contemplating her from the shadows of the hallway. The woman had been lurking outside her door, probably waiting for her to come out.

  “Th-the food,” gasped Shannon. “You d-did something to it.”

  “Why would I do that?” Mrs. Calhoun’ dark gaze pinned Shannon, and she couldn’t look away from those otherworldly eyes. She took Shannon by the shoulders and maneuvered her back into her bedroom. Then she shut the door behind her and locked it.

  Mrs. Calhoun put her onto the bed. Shannon was so weak, fading in and out of consciousness. She wouldn’t be able to fight this woman. Her teeth chattered, and a freezing chill overcame her body. She was dying. She could feel it.

  “What are y-you doing?”

  “What’s necessary.” Mrs. Calhoun looked down at her. She removed a necklace from under her dress and revealed a large jeweled medallion. She popped the center out, and then leaned over Shannon. As she moved to place the disc against Shannon’s chest, she added, “This is going to hurt.”

  10

  SHANNON BURNED AND burned. It was almost as if her blood had turned into acid. The jagged pain emanated from the silver disc pressed against her sternum. Shannon was too weak to fight the woman who held it firmly against her flesh.

  “Does it still hurt?” asked Mrs. Calhoun.

  Shannon couldn’t get words to form. She managed a low moan.

  “The spell is strong. ‘Tis meant to kill you.”

  Shannon’s limbs twitched and black edged her vision. Oh, God. Unconsciousness would be welcome. No more pain. She began to willingly sink into the oblivion.

  “No, girl!”

  Mrs. Calhoun slapped her hard. The harsh sting brought Shannon round enough to glare at the housekeeper.

  “You keep those eyes open. Look at me.”

  Shannon’s gaze met Mrs. Calhoun’ grey-blue eyes. For a moment, she felt a familiarity—as if she knew the crazy
woman. The shadow of memory fled, but for some reason, she felt less panicked. Was the housekeeper trying to help her?

  Or hurt her?

  Shannon felt a tiny reduction in the fiery torture. Moment by moment, the scorching reduced its intensity until it was completely extinguished. Her taut body, muscles aching from the excruciating tension, sank onto the bed. As relief flowed through her, hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

  “What did you do to me?” she rasped.

  “I saved your life,” Mrs. Calhoun said. She removed the disc and reattached it to her jeweled medallion necklace. “Someone wants you dead.”

  Shocked, Shannon stared at the housekeeper with an open mouth. “Why? I haven’t done anything.”

  “Not yet, you haven’t.” Mrs. Calhoun helped Shannon to sit up. “Get your feet under you, girl. We have to get you out of here.”

  “What? I can’t do that. What about Aiden?”

  “Yes, Aiden,” said Mrs. Calhoun, her voice kind and her gaze revealing both anxiety and fear. “That’s exactly why we must leave. If you want the answers you seek, Shannon, you must help me save the dragon king.”

  “The dragon king.” Shannon swung her legs out from the bed. Dizziness assailed her. “You’re telling me that Aiden is the man in the Clonakilty legend?”

  “And you are the maiden reborn.” Mrs. Calhoun grabbed her hands and pressed the necklace into her palms. “I created the spell that allowed you to return to Áillen. The future will be bleak for dragons if you and the king die this eve. Put this on. Keep it hidden.”

  Mrs. Calhoun put the heavy medallion around Shannon’s neck and tucked the jeweled disc into her shirt. “Will you do anything to save him?”

  “Yes,” said Shannon. I’m crazy. But there was no other answer to give.

  “Then I will give my gifts to you when the time is right. You must drink my blood—”

  “Ew!”