Unveiled Wolf Kings

Chapter One

Connor

Connor stood on his ancestral land next to a man who called himself king. They were staring at an entire village that had somehow materialised overnight in Connor’s valley.

“What the fuck?” he snarled. “How is this possible?” Beside him, his second-in-command, Fraser Balfour, stood with his mouth open.

“How the fuck indeed,” he echoed.

The fierce winter storm that had brought them all together pounded over the valley.

Lightning flashes highlighted the terrain as it vibrated with thunderclaps.

Stranger still was the low light hovering over the valley in swirls of orange and blue with flashes of bright white among the mist that hovered above the rooftops of the town that shouldn’t exist.

Connor had known this was no run-of-the-mill storm as he’d gazed out of his castle at fuck o’clock in the early morning. He and Fraser had rushed down to the scene of the activity—and now found something he’d never thought he’d see.

The other man calling himself King had come to investigate the storm for the same reason.

Connor now knew him to be the irritating Frenchman named Adrian Gauthier, the recently arrived King of the Gauthier wolfpack across the lake.

He glanced over at Connor, his green eyes dancing as wavy auburn curls escaped from his bright blue beanie.

He was a little shorter than Connor, and slimmer. Even in the heavy clothing he wore, Connor could make out the lithe and muscled form, evident in the way the man walked.

“I told you my name,” Adrian said. “Would you do me the pleasantry of giving me yours? I mean we are out here together at three in the morning.” He held out a hand.

Connor had already ignored his outstretched hand once and had no qualms about ignoring it again, manners be damned.

The new King hadn’t introduced himself before now, even though he’d been in the valley a couple of weeks.

Now he stood on ground that wasn’t his without an invitation.

Only a firm shove from Fraser prompted Connor to shake the other King’s hand.

“Connor Brannigan. King of my clan,” he said between gritted teeth. He gestured to Fraser. “Fraser Balfour, my second-in-command.”

Adrian shook hands with Fraser and motioned behind him at the man standing silently. “My companion is Max Flanagan, a guardian from home, and a good man to have by my side in uncertain times like these.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Fraser stepped forward, shaking hands with the two men. “Before we all freeze our balls off and end up with pneumonia, I suggest we leave the clan protocols for later and tackle what’s in front of us.” He scowled. “Or what shouldn’t be in front of us.”

Adrian and Max looked at them in surprise. “What are you saying?” Adrian exclaimed. “Are you sure this place didn’t exist before? Perhaps you didn’t realise it was here. You have a lot of land, Mr Brannigan. Perhaps—”

“I know what’s on my fucking land, Gauthier. The last time I was out this way a couple of weeks ago, that,” Connor pointed, “didn’t exist. The question is, who the hell is going to answer for this?”

Fraser shook his head. “I can’t believe it, Con. It’s a—”

“Fucking village,” Connor snapped. “Someone’s built a fucking village on my land.”

***

The village had an old-world strangeness about it.

This wasn’t something built by today’s engineers and architects.

This was a place of old-fashioned wood and stone homes that looked as if had been part of the old Scottish landscape of centuries past. Plants and bushes looked too well established for a new build.

Metal lanterns glowed on porches and inside the quaint stone-hewn homes, the flickering flames lighting up the darkness.

“Perhaps we should knock on a door and see if we could get some answers?” Adrian suggested. “I’d be happy to be of service investigating this rather curious incident.”

Connor shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Fraser and I have this under control.”

Adrian gazed at Connor in defiance. “I disagree, Mr. Brannigan. A village appearing on your land is certainly your jurisdiction, but, as our home is only some twenty miles from this location, I owe it to my clan to get answers for this,” he motioned to the village, “and for the unnatural storm that seemed to bring it into being.

“They too are scared and wondering what this weather and strange lights have brought them. As their leader, I promised I’d find answers.

What kind of leader would I be if I went home with my tail between my legs and told them I was unable to find out firsthand what the situation was, letting your pack take charge of something that may affect us all? ”

Fraser masked a muffled snort, but when Connor turned to glare at him, his friend’s face was innocence unvarnished.

After a minute, Connor stepped forward, gesturing towards the flickering torch lights in the distance. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “Follow us and stay well behind.” He motioned to Fraser. “Come on, let’s see if we can find someone who can explain what the fuck is going on.”

He stomped off, but heard Fraser murmur to Adrian, “Well done,” he murmured. “Round one to you.”

The bastard was siding with Gauthier?

Connor strode farther into the village, the other men at his heels. Fraser cleared his throat. “Those houses don’t look as if they’ve been built recently,” he muttered. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were centuries old. How the fuck does that happen, eh?”

Connor stood outside a stone bungalow with closed curtains, a small grassed front garden featuring what were now water-sodden mauve and yellow rosebushes, and a sundial. It looked homely and lived-in, and he looked up. A thin tendril of smoke wafted from the stone chimney into the sky.

Someone was home.

The other houses were quiet, with no sign of life. Even the church, a small, quaint building of Romanesque architecture, seemed deserted. The bell tower stood proud, and the arched windows stared emptily out onto the countryside.

Adrian narrowed his eyes at the trickling smoke from the chimney. “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” He grinned at Connor’s scowl. “What, you’re not a fan of The Wizard of Oz? I should’ve guessed. Too frivolous.”

Connor ignored him. “I’m going to go knock, see who’s home. The rest of you stay here. It reeks of something supernatural, and the only thing that should reek of that is us. Fraser, keep an eye on our guests. Make sure they stay back.”

Adrian rolled his eyes. “Aye, aye, mon capitaine. We will remain here while you superhero it to the front door.”

Connor growled and stormed forward. Anything to be rid of the annoying man called Adrian Gauthier.

***

Adrian

Adrian watched Connor with narrowed eyes, enjoying the play of his muscles and his long-legged strides. Max poked him in the ribs and Adrian yowled. His friend had large fingers and was not particularly gentle. “What’s that for?”

“Not a good idea,” Max muttered. “Focus, sir. That man is not one to trifle with. I can feel it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adrian said. “I was simply admiring the floral scenery.”

Beside him, Fraser chuckled. “Oy. Connor’s going to have his hands full with you, Mr Gauthier. He’s not used to someone making fun of him. Apart from me, of course.”

Adrian smiled. “Please, call me Adrian, and I’m sure Max won’t mind you using his first name. It seems pretentious to be so formal.”

Now Fraser laughed. “Fine with me. I’d like to see you call that man over there ‘Connor’ in your next conversation. He won’t know what to do with himself.”

They watched as Connor knocked on the door, then waited. There was no response. After ten impatient seconds, Connor banged again, harder.

“Please open up,” he shouted. “I’d like to talk to you.”

Considering it was almost four in the morning, Adrian thought the occupant was being prudent. Seeing four men outside their home, especially Connor with his stern visage and intimidating form, would be enough to put anyone off.

Perhaps a woman lived there alone and was feeling threatened.

He walked down the path to join Connor on the doorstep, ignoring Connor’s muttered, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t stay back there like a good puppy.”

“Good morning, monsieur ou madame,” Adrian called. “I assure you we mean no harm. We wish to talk to you and find out a little more about your lovely village. Please, would you open the door so we can chat?”

“As if that sweet talk is going to make them more susceptible to meeting us,” Connor grumbled.

“Have you ever heard the saying you catch more flies with honey than sour wine?” Adrian stared at him haughtily. “You, Connor, are a classic Alsace Burgundy.”

“It’s more flies with honey than vinegar, smart-arse. Not wine.” Connor’s fierce scowl indicated his feelings about the use of his first name.

“Ah, that is where you are wrong,” Adrian said confidently. “In France, it is always about the wine.”

The door opened, and both Connor and Adrian took a step back.

A woman stood framed in the doorway, her face pale but determined.

She looked to be in her twenties and had a yellow bandana wound around a shock of almost purple-black hair.

Her wrists were adorned with bangles, and strange symbols were tattooed on her forearms and wrists.

Connor didn’t spend too much time taking it all in.

He was too worried about the shotgun aimed right at them.

“Merdre, this is not what I expected.” Adrian reached out a calming hand. “Mademoiselle, I swear to you on my late brother’s grave, we mean you no harm. Please, could you point that gun away from us?”

She wavered. “I don’t know you.” Her voice was lyrical, with an Eastern European lilt to it, Adrian thought.

“Tell me where I am. This is not my world.”