A Bleacke Outlook (Bleacke Shifters #9)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Hamish - Back Then…

Goddess, I love it here.

Hamish felt Wales in his blood, in his soul.

He wasn’t one for traveling and would, in fact, happily spend the rest of his life living in the tiny old cottage nestled deep in a thick copse of trees in the far corner of his family’s estate.

It was warm, it was dry, and he’d repaired the roof and sealed the walls and windows with his own two hands.

It’d once been a tenant farmer’s home, but the man had long since died.

It’d lain vacant for nearly a decade before Hamish took it over and turned it into a cozy if not primitive retreat.

He didn’t even install electricity in it; he didn’t need it.

The only thing that vexed him about his current residence was his older brother, Faegan, who occupied the large manor house left to them by their parents.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Faegan possessed an insatiable need to know and keep track of Hamish’s whereabouts—not just him but their other living siblings as well—and his mate and sons, Faegan would likely have no clue the cottage even existed.

Not that Hamish cared about the large house.

Faegan acted like he was the only one entitled to it, meaning there was no way Hamish would let him have the satisfaction of thinking he wanted to so much as set a single paw across the threshold.

By their father’s will, it—and the rest of the estate—was legally the joint property of all the living siblings.

Faegan, being the oldest, threw his weight and ego around, was insufferable to live with, and took control as if he owned it all.

Hamish knew he’d have to simp and grovel and beg Faegan for the privilege of occupying one of the many unused bedrooms in the house he, too, had grown up in.

And then Faegan would, no doubt, make his life a living hell every day, reminding Hamish that he was being “allowed” to reside there unless he cowed to Faegan’s demands and abandoned every last shred of self-respect in his soul.

He refused to debase himself doing that, much less give Faegan the satisfaction. Not that Faegan could ever be satisfied. It was as if Faegan viewed anyone else’s happiness as an affront to his own.

In fact, Hamish happily lived out here, free to roam shifted, hunt, and explore.

He sometimes thought Faegan had lost the plot and forgotten what beauty there was in their existence, being able to shift and allow their senses to take over.

To smell, see, and hear things that the average human was incapable of.

But for the past several years, Faegan had increasingly traveled by rail to London and beyond, making contacts, forging alliances, attempting to broaden the influence of their dwindling pack.

Today, Hamish ran through the drizzling rain, flushing birds and barking with laughter as he sent the occasional deer bounding out of his way.

He loved being a corgi shifter. Faegan had always felt less-than about not being a more vicious wolf shifter, or even one of the bears or large cats that were prevalent elsewhere in the world.

Something else that didn’t bother Hamish.

If he planned to hunt for food, he did it on two legs with a gun. He didn’t need to be a wolf to hunt.

Their clan had remained relatively unbothered by wolf shifters throughout the last several decades; most of those canines were too preoccupied with trying to kill each other, from Birmingham to Inverness.

Despite Faegan’s insecurities and insufferable self-importance, the wolves felt unthreatened by the corgi shifters’ presence and generally left them to their own devices.

Wolves thrived on blood. That’s what it seemed like to Hamish, an outside observer.

Hamish had no desire to challenge anyone on any topic, except being allowed to live his life unmolested.

And should a desire to wander ever grab his soul and refuse to let go, Hamish wanted to cross the Atlantic, venture to the United States or Canada, perhaps even Mexico, to the south.

Such a huge continent full of promise and prospects.

Should the wolves ever decide to turn their focus on them, yes, Hamish would take action: he would gladly turn tail and flee.

Faegan would likely do something daft, such as declaring a battle to fight to the death, but Faegan had always been quarrelsome.

If there wasn’t trouble to avoid, Faegan was certain to stir some up.

Ever since he was a boy, Faegan thrived on creating chaos and tension.

Their father had often said there wasn’t a fight Faegan didn’t enjoy starting, even when none was to be had in the first place.

It was close to dark when Hamish returned to his cottage. Unfortunately, he spotted smoke wafting from his chimney, meaning someone was inside.

Bollocks.

When he shifted back and walked in, naked, he wasn’t surprised to see his older brother Donnel lounging in front of his hearth and sipping his scotch.

“What are you doing here?” Hamish growled.

His brother laughed. “Hello to you, too.” He pointed at the table, where two wooden crates sat. “You won’t be so growly when you see what I brought you from Frannie. She spent all morning baking.”

Hamish glanced inside one. The mouth-watering smell of fresh-baked bread and sweets wafted from it. A couple of bottles of scotch, among other things, were tucked into the other.

“Go on, then,” Hamish said. “Tell me what Faegan’s on about now.”

“Well, I doubt you’re gonna like this. He’s found a match for you.”

“A what?” Hamish walked over to the counter and poured water into his basin to wash up.

“A match. A mate. A beta bitch shifter, from the wealthy Corrigan clan.”

Hamish looked at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” Donnel walked fingers on his left hand through the air. “March you along like a good little doggy to make some shifter puppies for him to breed off to other clans.”

Hamish snorted. “He’s bloody mad, then. You marry her.”

“Alas, I am not a shifter, brother.” He widely smiled. “Much to Faegan’s consternation. I’m only good to him as a negotiator and a businessman.”

“I suppose you helped arrange this shite?”

He shrugged. “I have connections, after all.”

Hamish tamped down his growing rage, preferring to hear all the details first. “Tell me the full story.”

“The woman’s family wants shifter progeny to bolster their ranks. They’re willing to pay five thousand pounds as a dowry for the match.”

“And I don’t see a single quid of that, I’m betting?” Hamish resumed washing up, a plan already coalescing in his mind.

One he’d pondered before but hoped he’d never need to enact.

“Well, it does take a lot to run an estate of this size, Ham. And you do live here rent-free. It’s the family funds, after all.” He smiled again, smarmy, greasy. “Time for you to earn your keep.”

“Don’t suppose Faegan would consider doing an honest day’s work, hmm?” While the estate wasn’t as wealthy as others, between the income from the tenant farmers and from the estate’s own crops tended by packmates indebted to Faegan, they paid their bills with a tidy profit each year.

“What’s the fun in that?” Donnel downed the last swallow of scotch and walked over, setting the glass on the table.

“Anyway, message delivered. He wants to see you tomorrow for dinner at the big house. Seven sharp.” Donnel waggled a finger at him.

“Dressed properly for you to meet your bride for the first time.”

“I’m not marrying someone for Faegan’s use.”

“Come now, brother. She’s not bad-looking.

She just turned sixteen. Even if she’s not to your tastes, no one says you must stay faithful to her.

” He slapped Hamish on the shoulder. “Have fun breeding her. Once she catches, send her home to her mum to cry on her shoulder. Then live your life and tup other bitches at your leisure until it’s time to breed your bride again. ”

He departed while Hamish stood there, forcing himself to remain still despite wanting to rip out his brother’s throat.

Donnel always was a smug bastard, which was yet another of the many reasons Hamish didn’t want to live in the big house.

Donnel had no problem kissing Faegan’s arse or debasing himself to stay in their eldest brother’s good graces.

Donnel was also allergic to honest work, and the allowance Faegan bestowed upon him for his fealty effectively kept Donnel tethered to him.

Hamish wanted to beat Faegan’s arse. The only reason he hadn’t yet was that he didn’t know if he could beat Faegan in a fair fight. Faegan was older than him and had grown up fighting with his fists for survival.

And he was a damned cheat. If forced to fight Faegan, he’d have to kill him or spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. Faegan would never stand for defeat from his younger brother.

I knew it was too good to be true.

Things around here had been too peaceful for too long.

Mostly because Faegan was too engrossed first in finding “suitable” mates for his two sons.

Then, most recently, in his hunt for their little sister and her unapproved wolf mate, who’d managed to sneak off right under Faegan’s nose.

When Faegan sank his teeth into a situation, it was rare that he released it until it was settled to his satisfaction.

Bryn had committed the unimaginable sin of mating for love, without Faegan’s permission, and to a Prime Alpha wolf shifter, no less. Faegan spread the word he’d murdered them, but the truth—Hamish suspected, because he had no proof—was that they’d evaded Faegan.

No one was supposed to know that, however. Faegan didn’t even know Hamish knew. Had Hamish not been lurking around the gardens at the big house last year, he wouldn’t have overheard Donnel and Faegan discussing it.

It was a laughable lie to start with. Faegan? An Alpha corgi shifter getting the better of a Prime Alpha wolf in a fair fight?