Vacation with the Wolf Shifter (Monsters and Margaritas #9)

Chapter 1

SOPHIE

No one was waiting for her at the station when the train arrived at the small town of Wolfcraig in the Scottish Highlands.

“Well, shit,” Sophie Norwood said as she scanned the very empty platform. Someone was supposed to be here to drive her to the cottage she’d booked. Dammit. She knew she should have rented a car back in Edinburgh instead of trusting some random stranger on the internet’s word.

No matter. She’d figure it out. She always did.

Her heavy backpack dangling off one shoulder, she heaved her ridiculously overpacked wheelie bag onto the platform with a grunt of effort.

As soon as she stepped over the faded yellow warning line reminding people that getting too close to the edge was a bad idea, the doors slid shut.

With a quick toot of its horn, the train powered away, leaving her alone in the inky darkness.

Very alone. No one else had disembarked with her.

The phone-box-sized ticket office crouching on the corner of the platform was locked up tight, a hand-painted ‘closed’ sign propped up against the chipped paint of the darkened inner window.

A long bench sat next to the office, its wood worn smooth from countless backsides resting upon its surface.

The flickering glow of a cobweb-covered light fixture dangling from the roof’s overhang did little to cut through the gloom engulfing the station.

The hair on the back of her neck rose as she peered into the impenetrable darkness. It felt like someone was watching her, staring at her from the shadows. In the distance, a wolf howled, its cry met with a chorus that filled the night sky.

An instinctive shiver raced up her spine.

Sophie shook it off and buttoned her cerulean blue peacoat closed against the chill of the night.

“I feel like an extra in some cliched horror movie or something, just waiting for the killer with the big knife to step out of the shadows and get all stabby,” she muttered to herself as she reached around to fish her phone out of her backpack’s front pocket.

But it would take a lot more than some atmospheric spookiness to scare her.

Back home in Stonyburn, she’d been dealing with a stalker for months, one who’d gotten progressively more possessive and disturbing as time went on.

Though she had no definitive proof, she was pretty sure she knew who it was and told the cops about him each time she had to contact them.

So far, they’d been about as useless as she’d expected, merely saying they’d step up patrols in her neighborhood and telling her to change her locks, as if she hadn’t done that already.

They did say she could call them if he ever did more than send menacing notes and leave dead flowers on her doorstep.

So she’d taken matters into her own hands.

After a round of self-defense courses over at the community center, she could bring Kevin, their instructor and test dummy in blue padding, to his knees with a few well-placed jabs.

And she’d hauled her grandma’s favorite shotgun out of the back of her closet, cleaned it up, and filled it with rock salt.

It now sat in the umbrella stand next to her front door.

If and when her stalker finally showed his face, she’d make him regret it.

Her friends did their best to help. Eloise offered her a place to stay for as long as she needed.

Sophie turned her down. The woman was newly married to her adorable bear shifter and, as genuine as the offer was, they didn’t need a third wheel intruding on that newlywed bliss.

Rowan volunteered her lawyer-slash-demon husband’s services, but Sophie was a tad scared to ask what exactly that might entail.

She just wanted her stalker to leave her alone, not be cursed to spend eternity being tortured on the demon plain. A month or two, tops.

Then Pippa offered up the cottage she’d booked in Scotland.

“It’s two weeks surrounded by some of the most stunning landscape you’ll ever see.

Plus, it’s on the grounds of this cool old castle,” she’d said over drinks at their favorite dive bar.

“I can’t go, and I’ve already paid the deposit. Nonrefundable.”

Sophie had protested, unwilling to accept such an expensive gift, even from her best friend.

But Pippa was having none of it. “Look,” she’d said, her bright hazel eyes wide with concern.

“I know this stalker is freaking you out. Hell, it’s freaking me out, and I’m not the one getting creepy notes and gifts.

I want you to get away for a while and put some distance between you and this person. ”

Sophie had opened her mouth to regretfully decline, but Pippa’d grabbed her hand. “Go. Please. Take a much-deserved break from all the stress and worry. Drink a few pints of good beer in a crowded pub while listening to live folk music. Kiss a cute Scotsman or two. For me, if not for yourself.”

She’d huffed out a laugh, ordered them another round, and accepted her friend’s generous offer.

Truth be told, she’d always wanted to visit Scotland with its beautiful scenery, crumbling castles, and historic locations.

And she couldn’t forget about the accents.

There was something about a deep Scottish burr that made her knees wobbly.

But she’d never been, even though the country was at the top of her travel bucket list. Her ex, John, had talked her out of going by herself, promising to take her for her birthday.

Of course, he never did, claiming she’d misinterpreted him.

But how could she possibly have forgotten him saying, “We’re going to Scotland for your fortieth, babe, I promise” wrong? Such a dick.

She was still so mad at herself for wasting time and attention on that man before she finally woke up and realized what a useless, deflated piece of crap he was.

Her friends had been right all along. She just hadn’t listened.

The man had so many red flags she could have sewn a hot air balloon out of them and flown to the stratosphere, but whenever she called him on anything, he’d hit her with a one-two combo of gaslighting and love-bombing, prostrating himself at her feet as he promised to do better.

Then he’d proclaim his undying love for her and insist he couldn’t live without her.

And she’d fallen for it. Every time. Such a na?ve fool.

Eight months ago, she turned forty, and something reset in her brain because just like that, she lost all tolerance for people trying to screw her over or manipulate her.

She kicked John to the curb with a light heart and a middle finger, and her life was so much better for it.

In fact, she wasn’t sure she wanted to date another man ever again.

Being single was so freeing, and she thanked her lucky stars every day she’d never done something stupid like marry him.

Sure, there were some downsides to this new season of her life — hot flashes, itchy ears, and a constantly burning flame of rage, to name a few — but a fallow field of fucks was not one of them.

So, no. She wasn’t about to let a bit of spookiness and a missing ride knock her off her stride.

She was embracing her strong, independent self these days, one who went on solo trips overseas and who refused to let anyone take advantage of her ever again.

She was more than capable of taking care of herself, thankyouverymuch.

Sliding off her backpack, she plopped down on the worn bench under the buzzing light and dug deeper into the pocket, still searching for her phone. Surely she hadn’t lost it. She’d just stuck it in there not ten minutes before they pulled up to the station.

“Yes,” she crowed, tugging her phone free and thumbing it on. “And I have a signal, so ha! Take that, creepy station.”

Unfortunately, when she called the only local number she had, it went straight to voicemail. Biting back a groan of frustration, she left a message, letting her know she’d finally made it.

“Dagnabbit,” she said, glaring at the phone before stuffing it into the back pocket of her jeans.

As the person who’d rented Pippa the adorable cottage on the grounds of Wolfcraig Castle, Bryd Matheson was her only contact in the area and, according to the messages they’d exchanged prior to Sophie getting on the plane, she was supposed to have arranged transportation up to the castle grounds.

Except Sophie’s train was over four hours late, thanks to a series of mishaps including a stalled flatbed on the tracks and a seemingly endless flock of very stubborn, very fluffy sheep who didn’t understand that trains ran on timetables and people had places to be.

So it wasn’t really a surprise that her ride had abandoned their post after a few hours of waiting.

No doubt they’d found the closest pub and were enjoying a nice pint.

Which was exactly what she decided to do. Wolfcraig might be tiny population-wise, but every Scottish town had at least one pub, right? She was pretty sure it was a law or something. There, she could get some food, grab a drink, and find a ride up to the castle. Easy peasy.

Adjusting her backpack so it sat comfortably on her shoulders, she straightened out her wheelie bag and left the dark, empty station behind.