Evil Hearts

Chapter One

Chapter One:

A Wolfish Greeting

K atarina Beaumont was not prone to boredom. As an artist, she’d been able to find entertainment in even the most mundane circumstances. However, as she dined in the beautiful-yet-eerie foreignness of the Inverness pub, she could only describe what she was feeling as complete and utter boredom. Looking down at her questionable meal, she thought back to when her agent, Erik, had told her of the flight he’d booked for her a few days earlier.

“Wait… WHAT ? Scotland? What exactly am I looking for there ?” she kept her eyes on anything and everything in the office except Erik, who rested the stem of a wine glass between the middle-and-ring fingers of his left hand. Though he knew full well that his dining habits unsettled his client, he seemed to make a note of being in the middle of a meal whenever he wanted to deliver any news that he knew she’d disapprove of.

At that moment, Katarina wasn’t sure which was making her gag more, the smell of the blood or the threat of what was awaiting her in Scotland.

Erik offered a loose rotation of his free hand, which hung like a lazy creature from his upright arm as he framed his immaculate features between the pressed lengths of his silk shirt.

“Look at it this way, Kitty, I just got you some vacation time; some paid vacation time! All expenses paid! Even landed you first-class on the flight!” his already feminine voice was unusually high, something that happened whenever he was desperate but didn’t want it to show. “Besides, you said yourself that you’re running dry on inspiration and—let’s be fair, Princess—your work has always had that sexy fantasy style that would just thrive in that kind of setting!”

Once again, Katarina had found herself wondering if all agents were so draining on their clients.

A vampire in more ways than one… she mused to herself—a joke that she’d recited more times than she’d ever be able to count.

Though she was sure that Erik was more subtle with his feeding habits in front of his other clients—at least the human ones—he’d never been shy about relaxing the charade whenever he was alone with her. It had taken some time and finagling, but he’d successfully worked the public angle for her career as the “elven artist,” a fantasy illustrator so devoted to the genre that she’d modified her body—skin pigmentation and even surgical ear extensions—to look the part. A few convenient photos on the internet of her “bleaching” process and several testimonies from a plastic surgeon whom she was certain was a close personal friend of Erik’s were enough to convince the world that Katarina Beaumont’s unnaturally pale, flawless skin and long, pointed ears were nothing more than top-dollar augmentations.

It was so simple to pass off her beautiful anapriek traits as some form of obsession-fueled self-mutilation, but if that was the only way to follow her passion in the public eye without breaking the strict privacy laws of their kind then it was worth it.

There was always an angle.

Always.

And therein lay the biggest question as she’d finally locked her gaze on her flamboyant vampire agent.

“What’s the angle here?” she pressed, finally letting her scornful gaze lock onto him. “I can barely handle myself HERE! How do you expect me to manage by myself in another country?”

“It’s fresh scenery, and fresh scenery means fresh thoughts; fresh material. And if you find yourself bored and unable to manage, I suggest you try this new thing called working , girl,” he took another dainty sip of the blood and offered a fanged smirk at his own quip. “Now…” he stood and set down the wine glass before sauntering around his desk, “Your ride is waiting downstairs to take you to the airport and—”

“Wait!” Katarina fought against the wiry grip that was starting to herd her out of the office, “Airport? Already? But I haven’t even packed!”

“Kitty,” Erik rolled his eyes, “do you think I’d left any of this to chance? I had a few of my best guys pack your bags and essentials.”

Katarina glared at that, “You had strangers go into my home?”

Erik shrugged, “Hate me later… and you might want to think about changing your locks when you get back. Now SCOOT!”

She didn’t bother to fight it any further. Like it or not, if Erik wanted her on a flight to Scotland to motivate her career than that’s exactly what was going to happen…

One way or the other.

Despite her hesitation and skepticism, however, the idea of traveling to Scotland for some fresh perspective on her art did sound exciting, and she had heard plenty of stories from her female friends (and Erik) about foreign men.

Maybe an innocent, international affair was exactly the kind of inspiration she needed.

“Can you at least tell me where in Scotland I’ll be staying?” she’d asked, already resigning herself to her fate.

“Inverness,” he’d grinned, finally herding her out the door.

Now, after several days of lazily touring the scenery with other tourists and braving the local eateries, she had to question exactly what kind of inspiration she was expected to be finding. While the locals seemed nice enough, they still had an air of disdain for her being American. The innkeeper—a large, busty woman with a thick, rolling accent that matched her build—might as well have held her nose in the air when she spoke to her.

“Only you?” she’d asked her when she’d first checked in, her eyes lingering on the elongated points of Katarina’s left ear before she’d tucked it under her blonde hair.

Only you?

Like it was so unheard of to have a single woman staying in one of their rooms…

Still, it made her feel so alone.

Looking down into her glass of wine, however, Katarina realized she’d been feeling lonely for a lot longer than she’d let herself believe. She had to question if maybe she did need to find a more permanent companion to help inspire her. After all, art was her passion; her life ! She couldn’t let it be ruined by something as stupid as loneliness!

“Alright, Kat… time to go find some inspiration,” she whispered as she stood, taking one last gulp of wine before putting some cash on the table to cover her untouched meal and a tip.

“ Och ! Will ye shut it, ol’ man!” the thick burr of the innkeeper sounded from across the bar. “There be no wolves around these parts since the ol’ times.”

“ Aye ? And what makes ye so sure, Magee?” an older man grinned at the innkeeper, nudging her and letting out a bout of drunken laughter.

The old woman smiled, and Katarina inwardly smirked at the sight. So the woman did have a soft spot in her under all that crass and brass. She took her time getting her jacket on, taking her time so that she could continue to eavesdrop.

Wolves in Scotland?

Beautiful, powerful, deadly beasts roaming the land?

Maybe this was exactly what she needed to help inspire her.

“Ye are full of it! Just like when ye were in here goin’ on about Nessie! Or that month ye were obsessed with the missing villagers and tourists! But ye ne’er have any proof !”

“This time’s different, ye ol’ bat! I’m not the only one that’s seen ‘em!”

“Well, where d’ye think the wolves are then?” she cocked a brow at him; genuine curiosity brightening her features.

“ Och ! There’s tha’ ol’ excitement in ye eyes!” the older man laughed and nudged her again.

“Well, m’be ye’ve peaked my int’rest! So then, out with it, ol’ man! Where?” she slapped his back, causing him to double over in his drunken stupor and let out a loud, heaving cough.

“Alright, alright! Ye ol’ wench!” the man’s voice was a choked burr around his coughing fits, but still the innkeeper kept her slaps consistent against his back, spurring him on. “They say there ‘ave been sightings near Meall Mòr!”

“Oh aye ? An’ jus’ who is—”

Katarina turned away from the conversation, both in body and in mind, and finished throwing on her jacket as her mind raced with new thoughts. As she left, she found herself smiling to herself as she pulled out her map and headed towards the hills. As she made her way out of the village, she could feel herself grow lighter and her smile deepened as she looked up to the clear night sky. The moon was almost full and she felt almost empowered by it as she continued into the hills, humming to herself.

She wasn’t sure what to expect out there, but she was just as skeptical as the innkeeper had been. The old Scottish drunkard had seemed certain, but only because of what he’d heard from other, no-doubt equally as inebriated and misinformed elders. Katarina knew all too well that stories had a funny way of moving and exaggerating between each new teller; hell, her career was outright built on just this sort of exaggerated spoken lore! What was wolves that night could have started as a single sheepdog from a week ago. A few yipping foxes fighting over a rabbit spotted by the right near-sighted local could just as easily have inflated to this sort of story.

Or maybe they were true, Katarina mused, smiling wider as she continued forward—both on foot and in thought.

Maybe, just maybe, there were some wolves to be seen up in those hills, and in this sort of night—the unnatural clarity that she’d never find in New York City back at home—a sight like that was certain to spark new life into her paintings. She’d worn out the elf theme a while back, relying heavily on memories and stories of her anapriek heritage as a reference to paint scenes of nimble, long-eared beauties. The recent Lord of the Rings films had made for a spike in those types of visuals, however, forcing Katarina to shift her focus or risk being swept away with the lingering trend. Vampires were, despite Erik’s vanity-driven urges, an oversaturated market if one wasn’t willing to depict ageless teenagers humping like porn stars, and no matter how much her agent pressed that they’d be “making a comeback” she couldn’t bring herself to paint another fanged fiend without a greater certainty that there’d be a buyer at the end of it all. Horror and romance—and even uncomfortably beautiful hybrids of the two—were a reliable source of steady income, and when she found herself in a pinch there were always movie posters and book covers to fall back on for a quick sale…

But she wanted more.

Katarina was, when all the glitter and glamor was washed away at the end of the day, an artist , and—dammit!—she wanted to feel like she was creating art again.

Wolves in the highlands… she thought, cycling the words in her mind again and again.

It even sounded like an art exhibition.

Wolves… in the highlands.

She felt a shiver of excitement flutter in her breasts as the hope of new inspiration blossomed and she began to let the ideas come to her. Her feet carried her as her mind wandered; her basic instincts needing no more instruction than go to the hills to drive them. Speed and agility were her natural gift—as much a product of her anapriek genetics as her ears and skin—and, though she rarely needed them in the busting hubbub of the city, they’d never left her. Though it brought her no pride to dwell on the thought, anaprieks were the cosmic underdogs of the mythos community. Anything with a taste for death—vampires, therions, and just about every other species with the exception of the humans, who she knew to be no less bloodthirsty—were stronger and deadlier than her kind. Moreover, whether it was a divine prank or a cosmic injustice, anaprieks were a unanimous treat to any creature’s taste buds; their blood and their flesh serving as an ongoing temptation to anything with sense enough to smell it or a history for the taste.

She’d even caught Erik stealing glances at her throat when he thought she wasn’t looking, and she knew it wasn’t for her sex appeal.

And while times had changed and laws had been passed to prevent mythos-on-mythos violence, it was an inescapable reality that, when monsters got hungry, monsters fed.

Killers killed.

Rapists raped.

Molesters diddled.

Anaprieks got ate.

It was a childish poem and not one that Katarina took any real pride in, but it didn’t change the reality behind it. If it wasn’t for her kind’s speed and agility she doubted there’d be any left alive today. When an anapriek found itself in a bind, it moved; and—boy!—could they move! Though they couldn’t vanish into unseen speeds like the blood-drinking vampires, her kind had an instinct for seeking out new heights, and no matter how fast a vampire might be they could only jump as fast as any other creature.

“No fighting physics,” Erik had said on the subject, the resentment still sounding in the memory.

She’d learned early on that her kind were the bottom of the food-chain in her community. So she had quickly pulled herself out of that kind of environment, hid her longer elf-like ears and made a living amongst the humans.

Simply put: anaprieks survived because anaprieks could move like nothing else.

So when Katarina pointed herself towards the hills with promise of inspiration, her body did what it did best.

And that left her mind to do what it did best.

She was already mentally sketching her third soon-to-be masterpiece from her jumpstarted imagination when a flash of movement dragged her back to reality. Frowning at the sight, she felt a dragging sadness as she saw that the shadows weren’t wolf-like at all. No, they were unmistakably humanoid…

But definitely not human.

Having a vampire agent had at least taught her to recognize the smell of his kind.

Biting her lip, she began to turn away, already anticipating that a group of blood-drinking Scottish locals were not about to welcome a foreign anapriek with open arms. As she started away from them, she got the first glimpse of them. The three were uncharacteristically rugged-looking—hardly the aristocratic snobs that she’d come to associate with their kind—and wore leather kilts baring a fang-like symbol. Stepping away, careful to neither make a show of fleeing nor taking her time with the hope of mercy, she felt her foot knock a small rock and the breath in her lungs froze.

The rock dislodged and clattered down the hillside.

Several smaller rocks followed.

Then a larger rock that had been supported by them crashed down after them.

Three sets of predatory eyes burned in Katarina’s peripheral as their heads swiveled towards her.

Low, animalistic hisses rose like an eerie wind; exposed fangs gleamed in the moonlight.

The scuttle of feet shifting; leather slapping rock.

They were hunting her!

Though there wasn’t enough flat space for the three to run at full speed, she still marveled at the spectacle as they vanished from one point only to appear at another in the blink of an eye; seemingly teleporting from ledge to ledge so that they could leap to the next point and do it all over again.

No fighting physics.

If it weren’t for those ledges she’d already be dead!

Still… they were so swift; so elegant!

For god’s sake, Kat! Get through this first! This isn’t time to find inspiration! the thought was like a slap to her face and she took off, beginning to skillfully cross the hills, using her speed and agility to jump from ledge-to-ledge. See you bastards keep up with this !

As she continued across the steep hills, leaping and bounding like a mountain goat, she felt a rush at the idea of outrunning such deadly predators. So many of her kind had fallen under their kind’s fangs, and while she wasn’t one for celebrating danger she couldn’t deny her own body’s excitement at alluding—

She felt a tug on her jacket and whimpered at the realization that at least one of the vampires had caught up to her already.

A growl rose from just behind her, and, terror rising, she fought to free herself from the jacket. Twisting her body to-and-fro, Katarina sacrificed her footing and cried out as she stumbled down on a rocky patch and rolled down the grassy incline neighboring the forest. Gasping, she looked back up the hill towards the ledge she’d fallen from, seeing the vampire that still clutched her jacket leering down at her. Beyond him, further up the hill and glowering from the peak’s edge, she spotted a fourth vampire—a female—with bright golden eyes and long hair that glowed crimson-red in the moonlight haloing her features. The female stared back at her a moment longer, her long, red mane shifting in a breeze before settling across her shoulders, before she let out a low scoff and vanished.

The sound, like the many aches and stings she’d earned in the fall, hurt Katarina’s pride, and she inwardly cursed her ears for letting her hear it.

“Pretty little long-ear thought she could outrun us, eh?” the jacket-vamp grinned, his voice, though peppered with a Scottish accent, wasn’t as thick as the locals’ back in the village.

“Pl-please… I didn’t mean any trouble,” she whimpered, feeling foolish for the words before they’d even passed her lips.

Of course an anapriek wouldn’t mean any trouble! A mouse meant no trouble to a tiger! They weren’t after her because she was a threat; they were after her because she wasn’t a threat! What good would waving that fact do her now? And, even worse, she’d run out of hillside! A footrace at this point would be over before she could blink!

Biting her lip, she looked around trying to find any means of escape. When she found none, she forced herself to look back at the vampire highlander, seeing that another had joined him.

“Gods above! She smells divine!” another male declared, grabbing the sleeve of her stolen jacket and sucking in a hard breath from the cuff. Though he was shorter, his shoulders were wider; giving him the same air of power as the first.

“Don’t you be thinking of taking this one from me, Broch!” the first’s golden eyes began to glow under the moonlight as he narrowed them at his friend.

“There must be another way!” she whimpered, “Please, I can pay you!”

“Ha! The lass wants to buy her life,” the third finally caught up. “Are ye daft, woman? We doona need your money!”

“D-don’t need—” Katarina stammered on the notion, never having been in a situation that money couldn’t solve.

You’re not in Kansas anymore.

Katarina sniffed, refusing to give up. “I… I’m an artist; a famous artist! People know I’m here! There’s bound to be a search-party after me as soon as they realize I’m missing!”

“Oh aye ? And ye think the humans are goin ta frighten us?” the third quipped.

The second chortled and shook his head, taking another huff off of her sleeve. “Ye’d threaten us with another meal?”

The first held up a hand to silence the others as he crouched down, leering over her. “A famous artist, are you?” He waved his free hand at the hills, “Then what are you doing scouring these parts on your own?” his golden gaze scorched her own.

“ Aye ! There’re no Starbucks for ye up here, lass!” the third shot, buying a round of cackles from the others.

“I-I was looking for wolves,” she admitted.

“Wolves? Now I know the lass is daft!” the third laughed again, “Can we jus’ get t’ the fun part?”

“ Aye ! I’m starving!” the second declared, baring his fangs to Katarina.

Katarina frowned, realizing that there was no negotiating with the three. In a world where fame or fortune meant nothing she had no leverage. The mouse couldn’t offer the tiger a single thing it needed more than the thrill of the kill. It could only hope to try .

Futile or not, she had to run!

Pushing herself to her feet, Katarina pushed her body to do what generations of conditioning had built her to do. Her legs pumped like a well-oiled machine, and the air whistled past her ears. Despite this, she picked up on three subtle thud s as her pursuers dropped down from their ledge.

That’s it, she thought, there’s nothing else in their way!

The trees of the forest whipped by, and Katarina began a serpentine pattern between them. The broad-shouldered vampire appeared in front of her, laughing at her efforts. She squealed in terror and banked away from his outstretched arms. More ducking, more weaving, more running, only to narrowly dodge the clutches of the condescending vampire. Duck. Weave. Scream and dodge. Repeat. The laughter followed her, seeming to come from more than three directions at any given moment; their speed becoming evident as they played with her—cornering her and baiting her to keep the chase alive.

Her heart hammered in her chest, sending more of the blood that her pursuers lusted for coursing through her veins.

Laughter turned to ravenous snarls, and she felt their pattern grow tighter and more demanding.

They were done playing.

They were closing in!

“ Och ! The lass can run!” one of the vampires called out, “but no’ for long!”

Katarina gasped as the golden-eyed male appeared in front of her and gave her a wide smirk, his fangs extended and she stepped back, right into the grip of the second. Whimpering, she felt her own body began to sag in defeat, realizing she was about to die. She closed her eyes to the sight of the golden-eyed vampire drawing closer, preparing for oblivion to take her.

But nothing happened.

Daring a glance, she saw the vampire’s focus shift from his left to his right and then back again. Something—or, rather, several somethings —had interrupted them. Then she heard it: a rustle of leaves there; a snapping twig there. A heavy exhale—bestial and jagged—led into a low, enraged growl, then another—on the other side of the night-bathed trees, forcing Katarina to crane her neck like the vampire—joined in shortly after.

“What is it? Dogs?”

The golden-eyed vampire’s gaze narrowed at Katarina as an unspoken tension rose between them.

Wolves in the highlands…

“Th-they’re… they are real?” Katarina fought the cold tremble creeping up her spine in succession with the twin growls on either side of them.

The brush to her left and right parted almost simultaneously, and two sets of glimmering eyes took them in. Though Katarina had never seen a wolf—nothing outside of passing nature documentaries on the TV or half-hearted glances at the pacing captives in a zoo—she couldn’t help but feel they’d be… shorter. The predatory eyes burning into her must have been at least eight feet from the forest floor!

A gasp choked in her throat as realization combatted with her instinct to not make any sudden noises.

Therions!

The wolves that had been spotted weren’t dogs or the insane ramblings of a town drunk, they were fortunate survivors who’d spotted a pair of shapeshifters. Katarina had never met a therion before, though Erik’s rants in the past had led her to believe that they were mindless savages who lived only to eat and rape anything weaker then themselves, which, according to her agent, was just about anything.

Just how much of that was true, though?

There was a beautiful elegance to what she could see of the two; the deadly majesty of a jungle cat or a bear roaming proudly in the wild. These mythos, what had fueled the werewolf legends and just about every other lore of shapeshifters the world over, were more than just wolf-like, though Katarina could certainly see a fair share of canine traits in the jaws and ears.

There was, however, no denying that they looked dangerous.

As if to drive this point further, the therion to her right snapped its jaws and let out a low, guttural snarl while the one to the left peeled back its lips to make a show of its teeth.

The vampires released her and took a cautionary step away from her. The three had speed on their side, but with the two therions flanking them on either side the likelihood that they’d get their claws into at least one of them before they had a chance to vanish was too great. In the hills—with proper numbers and distance—they might’ve stood a fighting chance against the snarling beasts, but here…

Waves of inner conflict crashed within her head as Katarina tried to decide if things had just gotten better or worse. Therions were, like vampires, a species that was notoriously fond of the taste of anaprieks. While the vampires would’ve simply bled her dry, these two would outright devour her! And though her former pursuers certainly seemed swayed by their arrival, there was still the possibility that they’d set aside their differences and simply split her amongst them; her blood filling the bellies of the vampires while the meat was rationed between the therions.

Her stomach turned at the idea that she might become some sort of inter-species, tribal peace treaty meal.

Mind still racing, she felt her heart stutter and leap into her throat as the first roar was issued. As though a signal had passed between them, the two shot towards them, and a whirlwind of violence erupted around her. Katarina let out a panicked squeak and dropped to her knees, hugging her arms around her torso and trying to make herself small enough to not be dragged into the chaos. A massive, clawed fist whistled over her head, and one of the vampires let out a pained grunt. A moment later the sharp roar of fractured wood echoed and a tree toppled. One of the vampires hissed behind her, only to have the sound cut short; a muffled groan emerging. Snarls echoed around her as the sound of snapping jaws and sharp impacts resonated through Katarina’s core. She’d painted plenty of violent scenes in her career, but the still-life moments depicted did nothing to mirror the scene; the splotches of red pigment on canvas now seeming an unworthy mockery of the gore that splattered the forest floor.

Something grabbed her shoulder, and she let out a cry and clenched her eyes shut and pulled against it. The sound of fabric tearing startled her as whatever was holding her was yanked away, and she toppled into the dirt. Chilled earth bit into her now-exposed skin.

The sounds of the skirmish continued for a moment longer before the vampires’ frantic voices rose to call one another back, and three sets of footsteps started away before vanishing altogether.

Then silence; painful, dreadful silence.

Katarina refused to open her eyes—refused to even move—as her mind worked the possibilities. The vampires wouldn’t have fled without her if they’d killed the therions, and she knew that she’d have heard the towering beasts’ heavy steps through the brush if they’d left. Which left only one possibility:

They were still there!

They’d driven the trespassers to retreat and, in doing so, leave the morsel—her!—right at their feet. She shivered then, realizing that she was left wearing only a red lace bra—the tattered remains of her shirt scattered about around her like confetti.

Like being passed around like an entrée wasn’t bad enough, now she had to be served up in her most racy underwear?

Taking in a nervous breath, she forced herself to look up.

The therions gazes lingered on her, and she shivered under the possessive gleams in their eyes. Despite this, they made no move to take her; they simply stood, staring—their dark, broad torsos rolling with heavy, panting breaths.

Moving so slowly that her muscles ached with each labored inch, she stood. The nearest therion’s lip curled on one side, exposing its teeth to her and drawing a nervous whimper from her suddenly parched throat. Her panicked breathing and cries had taken their toll, and she stifled the urge to cough against the dry husk her throat had become. Turning to the snarling therion, she held up her hands, palms out, hoping that the peaceful gesture would calm it. The muscles of its leg tensed like a coiled rope as it took a step towards her, and the movement drove her to mirror a step back.

A warm grip took hold at her shoulders as she backed into the second, and the ensuing whimper set off the impending coughing fit. Hacking and convulsing against the ever-tightening, vice-like grip, Katarina began to sob, certain that she was about to be ripped to pieces.

But the massive clawed hands only secured her, keeping her upright and steady as the coughing passed.

Confused by this, she bit her lip and turned her head enough to look up into the face of the therion holding her. Shimmering, dog-like eyes took her in, and the therion cocked its head to one side, a soft, concerned whimper sounding as it did. Katarina stared up at him a moment, taken aback by the gentleness of its features, before turning her head back to the therion in front of her, who had crouched down on his haunches—bringing him only a few inches below her standing height—and began to lightly trail a clawed fingertip along a scratch on her hip.

Staring down at this, she realized that it was showing concern!

“I…” she choked on her voice at first, having to clear her throat before starting again. “I’m fine. They didn’t hurt me.” She smiled as this seemed to set the two at ease.

She watched as the one in front of her began to transform. His expression tightened against the obvious pain as his body shifted and jerked, shrinking down like a deflating balloon as he did. The cat-like traits melted away; traits that made her think of a jaguar beginning to bleed back into human features. The narrow slits of its pupils rounded, but the intense green of the irises remained, matted hair falling over a smooth, pale brow as ferocious teeth sank away and left a gritting, pained sneer. Claws receded into twitching fingers, and the light-gold body faded into a more familiar pink torso. Finally, though she felt that certain traits still seemed more animal than man, the process was done, and one of the sexiest men she’d ever set eyes on stood before her.

The messy-yet-beautiful nest of brownish-blond hair hung past his shoulders, serving to frame the upper portion of his body. Though he’d shrunk quite a bit in the transformation, he was still easily six feet tall and sported more muscle than any person—mythos or human—she had ever seen. His green eyes settled on hers, and a light eyebrow quirked then, reminding her that she was staring and sending a flood of heat to her cheeks.

Gods! She was ogling him like a craved animal on a piece of meat!

“Doona fear us, lass” he flashed her a grin and offered a slight bow. “We came to save ye, an’ we wilna harm you. Ye have my word.”

Gods! His voice was rough and thick with a Scottish burr and Katarina felt her body shiver under the vibrations of every syllable. Realizing she was still being held by the other therion, she carefully pulled away. Feeling her slip from his grasp, he whimpered and tilted his head questioningly.

“I’m okay to walk on my own,” she smiled reassuringly.

He nodded once at that and looked at his comrade, snapping his jaws and letting out an angry bark at him. Katarina jumped at this, taking a step away from him and looking back at the other for some explanation.

Clearly unfazed by the display, he shrugged and flashed her a coy grin. “Doona fret, deary. My brother is just upset that I transformed in front of you,” he chuckled. “Ye’see, I left my plaid back at the cave and he’s worried about ye seeing me naked.” He shrugged, “But I was certain that that ”—he nodded back towards his looming comrade; his brother, apparently—“was a scary enough sight a’ready.”

The other therion flashed him another angry look, but offered no more growls.

“O-oh, I see. Well, I appreciate his concern,” Katarina blushed. “But I’m an artist, you see, so I work with naked models all the time.”

“ Och , lass. That could almost hurt. Comparing me to one of your subjects,” he smirked.

“W-well, I mean…” she felt her whole body go hot as the blush spread. “Don’t get me wrong, your body is definitely… umm, I mean, it’s…”

The man laughed and the other therion stepped forward, letting out a snarl and shoving him back. The naked man hit a nearby tree with enough force to crack its trunk, and though the impact looked painful the laughter didn’t stop rolling as he shook his head.

“ Och ! Fine! Have it yer way, bràthair!” he rolled his eyes, working to cover himself and turning back to Katarina. “My name’s Munro, and this is Lachlan.”

“Nice to meet you both, I’m Katarina,” she smiled. “And thank you… for saving me, I mean.”

“Doona mention it, Kat—do ye mind if I call you ‘Kat?’” Munro grinned at her.

This man was too much! If Lachlan looked anything like Munro, Katarina was probably going to faint. While she wasn’t prone to swooning around men, Munro’s body was like nothing she had ever seen. That and his charm, gorgeous eyes, and rumbling accent turned him into a vision of walking sex in its rawest form. And, like he’d pointed out, there was no comparing him to one of her models back at home. Though she’d seen and even depicted more penises than she could ever hope to count, not a single one could compare to Munro’s. She’d picked up on her fair share of rumors about therions and their size—Erik having mentioned that it was easily their only admirable trait, but going on to joke that one could have an easier time taming a wild horse for the same results—but had passed them all off as tall, or rather long , tales.

“Are you alright, Kat?” Munro asked, though his grin told her he’d caught her staring once again.

“Y-yea, I’m fine,” she shivered and bit her lip, realizing she still had quite a trip back to the village. With the adrenaline from her encounter with the vampires fading and the full-body blush subsiding, her body was suddenly painfully aware of the elements around her. Losing both her coat and shirt in the middle of November in Scotland was definitely hitting her hard. “I’m just a bit cold, I guess…”

“Why don’t ye come with us?” Munro offered. “Our cave is nearby and ye look nearly frozen!”

She shivered again, trying to decide if the situation seemed too good to be true, and rubbed her arms with her hands, only succeeding in spreading the chill from her palms across her forearms. Lachlan grunted behind her then, his massive arms wrapping around her and sweeping her off her feet—tucking her against his bestial chest as he carried her bridal-style—before she could say or do anything to protest.

“I’m okay! Honestly,” she could barely get through the statement before the therion’s warmth oozed through her body and drove her to succumb.

“Nonsense, lass, Lachlan’s more than happy to help ye, so go ahead an’ let ‘im,” Munro grinned and nodded to his brother. “I’ll go on ahead an’ get m’ plaid on.”

Lachlan nodded towards his brother, who sprinted off into the dark depths of the forest with them following behind at a leisurely-yet-modest pace. Katarina found herself admiring not only the strength these creatures possessed, but how that power, even in such a casual moment, refused to go unnoticed. Every step carried them farther than she believed possible, and she found herself realizing that they’d make any trip in a fraction of the time she could have on her own. Before long she spotted the partially illuminated a cave ahead, and, turning within Lachlan’s grasp to get a better view, saw that it was covered in animal skins. A short distance from the opening was a roaring fire pit that provided the site with its warmth and light.

Did the two live here? She frowned at the thought as she noticed a large animal skin—she was shocked to admit to herself that it looked like a bear’s hide—that had been hung at the mouth of the cave like a door.

Arriving at the entrance, Lachlan bent down to help her inside and, as she stepped deeper inside on a makeshift carpet of animal furs, she found the interior surprisingly warm. A moment later, Lachlan draped another fur over her exposed shoulders and ushered her further, where she spotted Munro, who had just finished tying a dark blue kilt around his waist before handing Lachlan a red one.

“Are ye hungry?” Munro asked as he turned to a dented pot that hung over a small, contained flame in the corner, giving the contents a stir from a metal ladle that hung beside it. “We have plenty of stew.”

“No thank you. I ate before I headed out,” she answered, not wanting to be any more of a burden. The intoxicating aroma, however, spoke for itself, and her empty stomach answered with a loud and demanding grumble.

“Already ate, aye ? Munro chuckled and shook his head, “I like a woman with a hearty appetite. Let me feed you, lass.”

“I wouldn’t mind a small bowl,” she looked down shyly.

“‘Fraid a serving comes in only size ‘round ‘ere,” Munro winked, ladling a portion into a large bowl, “an’ it ain’t ‘small.’”

He laughed, handing her the bowl before starting another for himself.

The sound of clothes rustling reminded her that Lachlan had just finished transforming outside the cave, and she tilted her head, eager to see what sort of man would emerge. She’d already seen a recognizable difference in the two’s personalities, and curiosity was beginning to get the better of her.

Then he stepped inside…

She nearly swooned as she was greeted with his appearance. His hair was pitch-black and disappeared behind his broad, scarred shoulders. Like them, his chest and stomach were littered in evidence of prior injuries; his body a chiseled tapestry of combat. Even his solemn face bared two scars—streaks of pink that cut through his otherwise tan skin—over his right eye and another above his lip. His eyes were the same shade of green as Munro’s, but seemed darkened by a natural fierceness behind them.

Munro, with his soft, gentle demeanor and pale-blond features reminded her of an angel food cake, while Lachlan’s darker complexion and sharp, almost bitter-looking features reminded her of dark chocolate. Catching sight of the red-plaid kilt tied around his waist, she remembered a batch of chocolate cherry bars she’d been offered at one of Erik’s meet-and-greet parties.

She hadn’t been able to keep her hands off of them.

As she hungrily devoured the delicious stew, she glanced back and forth between the two…

Already thinking about dessert.