Chapter 4
TORIN
Torin meant to leave, to return to the castle and his pack.
If he were a smarter wolf, that’s exactly what he would have done.
But tonight was the full moon and, for the moment, instinct overrode common sense.
Despite his annoyance at her intrusion into his territory without invitation, he didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
It rankled him because, with that second, deeper scenting of her, he had to acknowledge something his wolf had known since that very first moment. Sophie was his mate.
Dammit. A low growl slipped out of him. The last thing he wanted was a human mate.
After Cath abandoned them, he’d told himself that if he were ever to get involved with someone for more than a satisfying shag, he needed her to be a fellow shifter, someone with the strength and power to lead the pack with him.
A true partner in all ways. That was not something a human could do.
He was assuming a lot about this particular woman, but he’d earned his understanding of human nature honestly, and it would take someone truly extraordinary to change his mind.
After pacing around the block a few times, Torin gave in and followed the delectable scent of his mate back into the pub. She wasn’t in the main room, but the scent of her lingered. She was close, somewhere in the building.
He shouldered his way over to the darkest corner. As he approached, the three men relaxing in the booth scattered like deer before a predator. As they should, he thought, his wolf giving a satisfied huff as he settled into the shadows, his arms folded over his chest as he surveyed the room.
“Making friends everywhere you go, I see.” Jamie Sim, his beta, set dark pints on the table and slid into a seat.
Torin grunted. “Slàinte,” he said, tipping his glass to Jamie and taking a deep drink.
“Slàinte.” Wiping away the foam from his moustache, Jamie said. “You missed tonight’s hunt.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And? Weren’t you there?”
“I was,” he said with a dip of his head.
A lock of pitch-black hair curled over his weather-tanned forehead.
Built as if he ran ultra-marathons for fun, Jamie came to the Wolfcraig pack from a difficult situation in Portugal seven years ago and had steadily worked his way up the chain of command.
He was vicious when necessary and loyal to his core.
Some day he might choose to leave and start his own pack, but until that day came he’d pledged himself to Torin and Wolfcraig.
“But your people were wondering where you were.”
“They can live without me for a night. I have important matters to attend to here.” He could feel the growl rising in his chest and swallowed it back down.
It wasn’t his beta’s fault he was on edge.
It was that damnable woman’s. Sophie. The feeling of soft fur brushed over his senses as his inner wolf paced, anxious that his mate wasn’t within sight.
He took another sip of his drink, the smooth bite of the dark ale a balm to his agitation.
“They can.” Jamie bent his dark head close and lowered his voice. “But coming here, tonight of all nights, Torin? It’s dangerous. For us and for them. You know this. In fact, it’s your damned rule that we don’t mingle with the locals during the full moon.”
“It’s only dangerous if we lose control. And I never lose control.” But Jamie was right. It was foolish to come here, especially when he was worked up over that woman and her irresistible scent.
Humans tended to fear that which was different or what they didn’t understand.
And when they feared something, they lashed out and demonized it.
It was a defensive measure that kept them alive when the world was dark and everything wanted to kill and eat them.
For generations, the wolf shifters in the mountains had been the bogeymen of the villagers, blamed for every little fire, unexplained fatality, and missing sheep.
During the Jacobite Rising and the ensuing unwelcome changes to the way of life of all Scots, shifters and humans realized they needed to band together if they were going to survive and keep their lands out of the greedy, grasping hands of the bloody English.
These days, there was still some separation between his pack and the villagers, but that peace and interdependence remained.
It wasn’t always smooth-going. Some days, maintaining good relations between the pack and the locals was like climbing Ben Nevis backwards, blindfolded in the rain.
With a single misstep, any one of the wolves could erase that delicate balance, including himself.
But it was worth the effort. As the world shrank and surveillance techniques became not only more sophisticated but ever-present in their lives, more and more humans would come to learn that monsters did truly live among them.
They needed to know that not all of them were bloodthirsty, amoral creatures.
Some could be quite pleasant once you got to know them.
His fellow shifters, for example. Sure, they changed into massive predators with teeth to slice and claws to rend, but they were also teachers, firefighters, bakers, and librarians.
Productive members of society, not mindless killing machines.
And if their alternate selves happened to be revealed to everyone someday, it would be nice if their fellow villagers didn’t immediately pick up pitchforks and torches.
His daughter agreed. So much so that she was on a campaign to convince him that turning several of the outbuildings into holiday cottages would be a marvelous way to show everyone that the members of the Wolfcraig pack weren’t terrible, slavering monsters, just people living their lives, same as them.
But it was a step too far in his opinion.
Despite his daughter’s best efforts, he wasn’t on board with outsiders tromping around his home and lands.
Jamie harrumphed and leaned back in the booth.
“For fuck’s sake. Quit fretting like a broody chicken and drink your beer. The music’s about to start.”
Jamie gave him a long look. “On your head be it. But I’m not leaving you. Tonight is not the time for you to be going all lone wolf.”
Overprotective bastard, Torin thought with a shake of his head as Keith, the fiddle player and session leader, called the first tune. It wasn’t necessary, though he appreciated his beta having his back.
The players were finishing up their first set when she entered the pub from the back. His inner wolf came to attention. Gail had a few rooms for rent upstairs; that’s where she must have gone. He made a note to have a little chat with the pub’s proprietor.
Sophie wore a green cowl-neck sweater and dark wash jeans that hugged her curves.
Her thick red hair had been freed from its braid and twisted up into a messy bun on top of her head.
A pair of glasses with cobalt blue frames perched on her snub nose.
She was just tall enough for him to keep an eye on her as she worked her way through the crowd, but he almost bolted from his seat when she disappeared behind a pair of burly farm boys for a moment before reappearing.
He leaned forward, his fingers tightening on his glass.
Jamie raised his eyebrows in askance, but Torin shook his head.
How could he explain his reaction to the redhead when it wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before?
It was as if a seismic shift had just rumbled his entire world, turning it completely upside down.
Our mate, his inner wolf whispered, locking in on her as she accepted a pint of amber-colored beer from Gail with a grin. She leaned an elbow on the bar, her head bobbing in time to the music. A drunk guy bumped into her, sending her beer sloshing down the front of her sweater.
It took everything he had not to leap over the crowd, rip out the throat of the stupid man who’d dared to touch her, and sweep her into his embrace. Torin’s suddenly too-sharp nails dug furrows in the tabletop as he tried to control his instincts.
“Alpha,” Jamie hissed. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
“You’re right.” Torin made a concerted effort to calm down, slowly counting to ten. Then twenty. He did not need to be losing control in here, no matter the reason. Picking up his beer, he drained it and set the empty glass back on the table with a thunk. “We shouldn’t be here. Meet me outside.”
“We’re leaving?”
He grunted in the affirmative, his eyes laser-focused on Sophie.
After motioning for the pair of farm boys to escort the drunk outside, Gail handed her a clean bar towel, said something he couldn’t hear over the din, and pointed around the corner.
With a nod, Sophie took it with a grateful nod, wiping the beer from her sweater as she disappeared down the corridor towards the toilets.
“There’s something I need to do first,” he said.