Epilogue
Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands – Damon…
“It’s definitely chilly this morning.” Damon shivered as he sat in his chair that was placed right outside the front door of the caretaker’s cottage, which was one of his favorite hideaways.
The Scottish highlands spread out before him like a blanket in shades of green and gray, with the mist clinging to the hills like wisps of white cotton candy.
Damon cradled his coffee mug between both hands, savoring the heat seeping through the ceramic into his palms. The morning air was cold enough that he could see his breath, but after years in the Underworld’s scorching wastelands, he’d never tire of crisp mornings and the smell of damp earth.
His cottage sat small and solid against the hillside, stone walls thick enough to keep out the worst of the wind.
Behind it loomed the castle - crumbling and magnificent in equal measure, turrets reaching toward gray skies, ivy claiming what the elements had already begun to reclaim. The place had character. History. Soul.
More importantly, it was quiet.
Damon took another sip of coffee and tried not to think about how seven of his pack brothers had found their mates now - seven of them.
Lamont had just sent pictures yesterday from Santorini - sunset photos with his mate, Ewen, wrapped in blankets, both of them looking stupidly happy.
At least I know what was making Lamont edgy when I saw him in Tuscany.
Damon only knew a bit of the story, but it seemed Lamont got his happily ever after in the end.
His hound shifted restlessly beneath his skin. He hadn’t been settled since they’d been in Tuscany, and that had been three months before. Personally, Damon didn’t have a clue what was wrong with his hellhound, but the constant restlessness was annoying.
“Stop that,” Damon muttered. “We have coffee. We have peace and quiet. We don’t need…”
The rumble of an engine cut through the morning silence. Damon swiveled in his seat, spotting the mail van bouncing up the rutted track that passed for a road.
Duncan Merriweather pulled up beside the cottage, his weathered face breaking into a grin as he rolled down the window. “Morning, Damon. Bit cold for sitting outside, isn’t it?”
“Says the man who swims in the loch in January.”
“That’s different. That’s tradition.” Duncan pulled a handful of mail from his bag, sorting through it. “I’ve actually got something for you today. A proper letter, not just the usual junk.”
Damon set down his coffee and crossed to the van, accepting the small stack Duncan handed over. There were bills for utilities he barely used, a catalog for outdoor gear, and - there, at the bottom - a cream-colored envelope with the property management company’s logo embossed in the corner.
His hound perked up with sudden interest.
“Is everything alright?” Duncan asked. The man had delivered on the same route for thirty years and lived to gossip.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just surprised anyone bothers to write actual letters anymore. Most places use email now.” Damon tapped the envelope against his palm. “Thanks, Duncan.”
“Right then. You take care.” The van rumbled back to life, and Duncan guided it back down the track, waving merrily from the window as he disappeared.
Damon returned to his chair, coffee forgotten as he studied the envelope.
The property management company had handled his lease for three years now.
They’d been efficient, professional, and refreshingly hands-off.
He paid rent quarterly, they ensured the cottage stayed maintained, and to date, no one had worried about the state of the castle slowly collapsing behind his home.
It wasn’t part of his lease, so Damon didn’t worry about it either.
He slid his thumb under the flap and pulled out a single sheet of heavy paper.
Dear Mr. Damon,
This letter serves as a courtesy notification that the owner of Duncarrick Castle will be in residence for approximately three to four months beginning next week.
He intends to undertake preliminary renovation work to assess the castle’s condition and structural integrity, with plans to eventually sell the property.
Your lease agreement remains unchanged, though we wanted to inform you of increased activity on the grounds during this period. The owner has been notified of your tenancy and will respect the boundaries outlined in your lease.
Should you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to contact our office.
Regards,
Margaret Pettigrew
Duncarrick Property Management
Damon read it twice, then set it on the small table beside his now-cooling coffee.
The owner was coming. After three years of blessed solitude, someone would actually be living in the castle and renovating it. And then, from the sounds of it, the person planned to sell it.
His hound surged forward with sudden, fierce possessiveness.
“What?” Damon frowned, pressing a hand against his chest where the feeling burned strongest. “It’s not our castle. We just rent the cottage.”
But his hound apparently didn’t care about logic or lease agreements. The beast wanted what it wanted - had always wanted what it wanted which was usually to run wild through the wastelands or pick fights with drunk demons stupid enough to challenge a hellhound.
This felt different, though. This felt like…
“No,” Damon said firmly. “We are not getting territorial about a crumbling castle we don’t own.”
His hound subsided, but only slightly, still grumbling, even as his possessiveness over a bunch of stones made no sense whatsoever. The owner will be lucky if he can find a room at the castle that still has a roof secure enough to keep out the rain.
Damon picked up his coffee, realized it had gone cold, and clicked up a fresh cup instead. Being a hellhound had its uses, especially on mornings that threatened to get complicated.
There wasn’t any reason why he couldn’t buy the castle. Damon had thought about it when he found the cottage, but at the time it hadn’t been for sale. He had the money for it - that wasn’t an issue - but the place did need extensive renovations…
And really, do I want to own a castle?
Three years ago, Damon would’ve laughed at the idea. Yet now, looking up at those crumbling towers and ivy-covered walls, something in his chest tightened with - what? Longing? Belonging?
His phone buzzed. It would be the pack chat most likely. Many of the new mates liked to keep in touch with everyone, sharing pictures of their kids and happy times. Damon ignored it for now, still thinking about the castle.
His hound rumbled again, that same strange anticipation making Damon’s skin prickle.
“What do you know that I don’t?” he asked the beast.
But his hound just settled smugly, as if it knew exactly what was coming and was content to wait.
Damon looked back at the letter, then up at the castle.
Someone had let the place fall into ruin.
Three years, and he’d never once seen the owner, never even learned a name.
The property management company handled everything with discretion and professionalism, which was exactly what Damon preferred.
What kind of person inherited a castle - or bought one, maybe - and then just...left it to crumble?
The renovations would bring noise and workers most likely. It would definitely disrupt the quiet life Damon enjoyed. Part of him wanted to start looking for somewhere else to live, somewhere remote enough that pack chat messages felt like the only connection to the chaos of life.
But even as he thought that, Damon’s hound let him know leaving wasn’t an option. Not now, or not yet? Damon didn’t have a clue. But for some reason, his hellhound wanted to see who turned up with plans to restore a ruined castle.
It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do at the moment.
Damon finished his coffee and went inside to start his day, but the letter stayed on his mind, along with the uncomfortable realization that for the first time in three years, he was slightly looking forward to having a neighbor. In contrast, his hound was actually excited about it.
“We’re going to have words about this,” Damon warned as he stoked his fire. He’d cut more firewood later. “The castle renovations have nothing to do with us, and neither does the castle owner.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that his hellhound appeared to be laughing.
What on earth does he know that I don’t?
To be continued…